


An Offer Received

by MidnightBlast



Category: Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial
Genre: CEO Tom Hiddleston, Controlling Behavior, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Helicopters, Jaguars, Possessive Behavior, Scalpel Violence (not super graphic), Submarines, Supervillains, World Domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightBlast/pseuds/MidnightBlast
Summary: You were just doing your job. It wasn’t your fault you did it so well that your boss, Thomas Conrad, wanted to recruit you in his plan for world domination. And what Mr. Conrad wants, well….
Relationships: Thomas Conrad/You, Tom Hiddleston (Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial)/Reader, Tom Hiddleston (Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial)/You, Tom Hiddleston/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	1. 5 Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr in six parts, and now captured here! 
> 
> (Not gonna lie, I saw the Disney+ 'Loki' first-look this morning, and got chills (especially those last scenes on the airplane in that suit with those shades...) and got inspired to move my Jaguar Villain!Hiddleston story over...)

You dropped to your office chair with a sigh, plugging in your laptop. Today’s department head meeting had passed uneventfully for once. Robert Stark, Head of R&D, and Chris Rogers, Head of Operations, constantly jockeyed for more allocation of your production resources. It was challenging, you’d admit – finding the balance act between supply and demand while planning for the future. But you were the youngest Head of Production for the largest tech giant in the world, Lok Industries – better known by the LOKI brand splashed on phones, watches, tablets, computers – for a reason.

While youngest as your particular department head, you were hardly the youngest on the senior staff. And that was to say nothing of the CEO himself. The youngest man in corporate history at the helm – an engineer with the aptitude for business strategy and the political savvy to chart a meteoric rise to the top. In fact, Thomas J. Conrad’s nomination for CEO five years ago passed unanimously in record time. 

You’d never met him, never even seen him around the office despite your department head position. Plenty of others had, though, with stories to tell and scars to prove it. You tried to stay above the office gossip – especially when it concerned your senior boss – but it was intriguing. For all the press release photos and official portraits you’d seen – Mr. Conrad looked pleasant enough. Intelligent, sky-blue eyes; well-coiffed, gold-brown hair that betrayed just a hint of natural curl; a dashing smile. But that’s all it was, according to the hearsay – just a well-crafted façade. No one should be fooled by those eyes that could cut men in half; by that clever mind operating with ruthless intent; or, by that sharp, cold tongue that knew no mercy.

It sounded like such a cliché. The handsome, suave boss who was secretly-not-so-secretly a heartless bastard. A vicious predator in a bespoke suit. Albeit, a gorgeous one.

That’s why you didn’t care for the gossip. It’d be far better to meet the man and form your own opinions – but you’d been sufficiently warned that you’d only be brought before Mr. Conrad when you royally fucked up. “Not _if_ you royally fuck up,” Scarlett Romanov had helpfully clarified with a coy smile, “but _when_ you royally fuck up.”

Well, four years in and it hadn’t happened yet. And today was no time to start.

Turning to your laptop, you tended to the business at hand – reviewing production data, answering emails, assigning resource allocation. All in a day’s work. At one point you glanced at the clock, realizing there was just an hour left in your day. Perfect.

Perhaps tonight, you’d break the stalemate with Sebastian Barnes, Head of IT, and text him. He was quite handsome in his own right, easy to converse with, and even easier to fall into bed with. Even morning coffee at his apartment had been pleasant. But work got in the way for both of you – between server upgrades and production outages, there always seemed to be some excuse recently.

The desk phone beeped twice, flashing red, followed by another set of two beeps. An internal caller. You glanced at the ID on the screen, brow furrowing as you hit the speaker button. “Afternoon, Mrs. Brunhilde.”

“Good afternoon.” The pleasant voice of Mrs. Willamina Brunhilde – a relic of the former CEO and still glorified secretary of the CEO’s office – suffused your name with warmth and professional detachment. “Mr. Conrad would like to see you. He has an opening for the next hour, and I’ve just reserved the time on your calendar. Are you in a position to come to his office in 5-10 minutes?”

You knew the question was largely a polite formality. When Mrs. Brunhilde called and Mr. Conrad wanted a meeting, there was no excuse to say no. Your heart rate accelerated as you swallowed. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

With a few more perfunctory pleasantries, the call ended. You exhaled deep, fighting to reign in the sudden nervous energy that pooled in your gut. This was no different than any other meeting you’d attended – you were smart, you were capable. You were the Head of Production, and you didn’t get this job for being a pretty face. Brushing your slacks, adjusting your blazer, and smoothing your bangs, you exited your office for the trek across the sprawling building.

Mr. Conrad’s office suite overlooking the city harbor matched much of the building aesthetic – sharp lines, glass and chrome, a study in clean whites and crisp greys with hints of the company’s bold green signature color. Mrs. Brunhilde greeted you with a smile, ushering you forward to the dark, partially cracked double-doors. You rapped on the wood, exhaling deep.

“Enter.” His velvety, British drawl had always been appealing. 

You opened the door further, stepping inside. He glanced up from the slim folder in hand as he sat in the white, leather chair at his desk – the picture of perfection with straight posture, a black tie knotted tight at his throat, and the crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt on display.

He inclined his head ever so faintly, face devoid of a smile. “Thank you for coming.” Your name rolled off his tongue in the most pleasing way.

You tipped your head in return. “Of course. Thank you, sir, for taking the time.”

He reached to his laptop, pressing a button on the keyboard before looking back to the folder as audio started to play.

Your stomach sank to your feet as you recognized it.

_Your voice carried clear. “Our control limits are holding – 23 defects per 1,000,000 units. Our department has set an improvement goal to drop that number from 23 to 5 in the next four years –.”_

_Robert’s voice interrupted. “Oh goody, but perhaps, more importantly, you can tell me when Lane 5 will be restored?”_

_“The investigation into Lane 5 is still ongoing,” you said, voice even, “the code has been scrubbed, and we’re looking at retooling options.”_

_“Retooling options?” Robert scoffed. “Need I remind you that it’s been 33 hours since you canned my primary production line? That’s 33 hours of lost time, to the tune of – oh, say a 9% drop of market share come holiday season if we don’t finish the dev on these new marine products.”_

_You didn’t miss a beat. “As opposed to a 21% loss in market share if we let our control limits slip and start producing a higher percentage of defective products? Consumers know the LOKI brand is reliable – the highest reliability of any of our competition – and reliability makes or breaks on the production floor. Sacrifice quality control limits and you might as well kiss your cushy retirement goodbye.”_

_“Then, scale back – temporarily – on Rogers’ orders. He’s meeting quota, check the box for market supply. And if it does get tight, well, a little more demand for less supply usually helps -”_

_“Robert,” you cut him off, voice tight, “this is my call. I’ve looked at the same numbers you have – with Lane 5 out of commission until we can bring it up to spec, it’s a hit to our bottom line. It’s my job to minimize that hit. While never desirable, we can weather a 9% loss without permanent damage to the brand. Even Mr. Conrad would agree to that. But, if you don’t like that answer – then, by all means, let’s do discuss with Mr. Conrad.”_

_The room fell dead quiet, broken only by the faint squeak of a shifting chair._

_“Well,” Robert started softly, “I don’t know that we need to go there just yet. What’s your projection on the investigation conclusion?”_

_“Retooling should complete in the next 21 hours, then we’ll move through start-up.”_

Conrad’s hand floated back to his keyboard, pressing a button to cut off the recording. You didn’t dare speak as silence fell. If he was displeased, you would know soon enough. And if he was pleased, well…no one ever said they were called to Mr. Conrad’s office because he was pleased.

Your heart raced as he drew out the moment, but you wouldn’t let him see you sweat. You wouldn’t let him unnerve you.

Cold, crystalline eyes darted up to yours, pinning you in place. “You have absolutely no authority to speak for me. Making baseless statements about my assumed inclinations is not part of your job. Your job does include resolving those inter-department squabbles without leveraging my involvement as a threat. Now, if you’re incapable of standing behind your own decisions, incapable of defending the trajectory that you have set for your department and this corporation by extension – then, tell me now and spare me further disappointment.”

You responded on instinct, hiding the sting of his words. “No, sir. I’ve watched the company’s production numbers for almost four years now. Every metric is higher across the board than when I assumed the position -”

“Yes, including budget. Your department’s costs have increased, not exactly commensurate with your outputs. Diminishing returns often plague the pursuit for perfection as one approaches the pinnacle.” He glanced down idly to the file in his hand. “Your department walks that razor’s edge now. It would be well within my interest, perhaps, to cap you there.”

“Sir, the quality of our production is unparalleled –.”

“But you wanted to bring the discussion to Mr. Conrad, did you not? Well, here you are.” He closed the folder, tossing it idly to his desk before rising. Despite the late hour, he looked as pressed and polished as if the day had just started. He crossed around to the front of his desk, bracing against it as he rested his hands inside his trouser pockets. “There’s only one solution in this case.”

You debated asking but thought against it. Asking would be redundant. He wouldn’t have brought you here without a purpose, without something to gain.

He gestured at the nearest leather armchair opposite his desk. “Do have a seat.”

You paused, hesitating in consideration of his words. Sitting as he indicated would place you in a physically submissive position to his tall, lithe figure. Not that you were short in your heels – standing just over 5’9” – but you weren’t exactly keen to meet your senior boss on unequal footing.

His gaze hardened, mouth pinching with irritation. “If you’re stalling for time, my patience is not inexhaustible. And when I make an offer, I expect it to be received.”

Steeling yourself, moistening your lips, you crossed around to sit as indicated. You squared your shoulders and held your head high, refusing to fully angle back to look up at him as he spoke.

“Mrs. Brunhilde’s time at LOKI has come to an end. As you know, she was installed to her post by my predecessor who tailored the position to suit his needs. Needs that no longer align with my own or the corporation. The position is now evolving to meet the ever-evolving environment in which it must function.”

You nearly whiplashed from the change in conversation. Hadn’t he just questioned your ability to successfully do your job…?

He continued to speak softly yet there was no mistaking the hard, commanding edge. “The new terms for the CEO Administrative Executor now require someone with a working knowledge of the business and its trajectory; a willingness to stand in defense of that trajectory while keeping a clear head for the larger vision,” he pitched slightly forward, voice dropping with the barest hint of a tease, “and, of course, leveraging the power of one’s boss with explicit authority.”

It sure sounded like a tease, but you couldn’t be sure. You were too busy reeling from the implications. “Forgive me, sir,” you looked up at him, “but…it sounds like you’re suggesting….” You didn’t finish. Couldn’t finish. The thought of being removed as Head of Production and reassigned as his personal secretary, office administrative whatever repulsed you. Had he already judged you incapable? Was this punishment for one fucking meeting?

“I’m more than just suggesting.” He reached behind him for a loose sheet of paper. “Take the rest of this week as transition, and start in earnest on Monday.”

“The rest of this week?” You couldn’t stop the outburst. “I couldn’t possibly – you’re giving me just three days to transition out as Head of Production, and into the role of your office executor? Who’s my replacement? I need time to prepare the turnover, oversee the transition – and, surely, I should be involved in determining my replacement.”

A wolfish smile ghosted his face. “Welcome to your first objective in your new role. In addition to learning the expectations of this office and implementing goals for your redefined position, of course.” He held out the paper in your direction and you stared at it, wishing it would burst into flames.

The official notice of transfer with authority granted by the one and only Thomas J. Conrad.

Well, you wouldn’t be texting Sebastian tonight, after all. Not when your workload just quadrupled. You reached out for the paper, gripping it tight as you sighed.

“You needn’t look so glum about it,” he scolded lightly. “Consider it a promotion. If you hadn’t caught my eye – or ear, more accurately – you wouldn’t be here now. At least, you’ll find I’m rather adept at managing my own schedule; my valet manages my personal affairs; and, the café staff is well aware of my expectations for coffee and tea service.”

You quirked a brow. “Isn’t coffee delivery standard to every assistant position?”

He leveled you with a stern look in return. “If you ever bring me a cup of steaming liquid, you’ll find your pay docked by 60%. You’re in this position to be eyes, ears, and perspective on this company. Someone adept at managing the razor’s edge and surviving.” He straightened from his desk, extending a hand. “Are we understood on your priorities?”

Another challenge. Another opportunity. And if it didn’t pan out…well, how many others could say they worked directly for Thomas J. Conrad on their resume?

You rose, taking his hand. “Understood, sir.”

His answering smile, predatory and self-satisfied, sent shivers down your spine.


	2. 5 Weeks

The news sent shock waves through the corporation. Even five weeks later, the rumors still hadn’t died down.

The most common theory was that you fucked him for the position. Sure, you didn’t wear the shortest skirts or the tightest blouses, but you were pretty enough and still a woman – and he was just a man. It was an obvious, frustrating assumption. The second prevailing theory was that you just plain fucked up. Why else would someone move from department head to a glorified office assistant?

Of course, no one ever said anything to your face. Your presence brought too much undeniable authority for anyone to make a direct snide remark. But you didn't buy-in to the gossip about Conrad before, and you didn’t buy-in to the theories now. Everyone could speculate on the limits of your ambition, but you held your head high, secure in the truth that you hadn't sacrificed your integrity to get the position. Hell, it wasn't even something you asked for. 

But with each week that passed, the noise became easier to drown out as your knowledge of the corporation’s inner workings expanded exponentially. As Head of Production, you had a limited purview – but now, nothing was off-limits. Civil service initiatives. Defense contracts. Private buyer agreements. All in addition to the main consumer technology ‘gadget’ market.

It proved endlessly fascinating. The corporation had branched into so many different industrial and municipal strata that it was no wonder LOKI continued to post record-topping revenue each quarter during Conrad’s reign.

It made you wonder. Had Conrad been the architect of all this? Somehow, you doubted the former CEO had left this grand vision for Conrad to execute. The old guard – largely symbolized by Mrs. Brunhilde – was a thing of the past, and Conrad plainly had eyes for the future.

True to his word, you took very few of his calls and managed very little of his schedule. You knew it, of course, and had turned plenty of people away who hoped to just ‘drop in on him’. You’d note names, numbers and topics, adding them to your list of talking points for your daily meeting with him.

Those meetings proved unforgiving on a good day, and brutal if any fires burned. You had to ace it – an ever-changing status to condense the daily workings of a multi-faceted corporation into a few minutes’ time. But Conrad never missed anything – his questions cut to the chase, distilled issues down to their core, and always looked five moves ahead.

Of course, he had to look flawless all the while. You’d never once seen him with his tie loose or sleeves rolled up. His suit jacket came and went, but it wasn't a tell of his mood. He maintained a professional, even keel and nothing ever seemed to fluster him. Even when production numbers took a dip during the transition – even though you would begrudgingly admit that Jeremy Barton was doing a decent job – and even when a lucrative acquisition contract with Hong Kong fell through, you never saw the man break a sweat.

You sighed, forcing yourself back to focus, thumping another file folder onto the stack, this one named Operation ‘Lily Pad’. Oddly enough, the corporate-level initiatives had the most unprofessional and vague names. You’d received word late in the day that Conrad planned to lead a meeting with the corporate investing committee tomorrow. He hadn’t shared the objective, but he had requested four slides of investment figures and activities from each department, highlighting the corporate-level initiatives.

So, here you were at 7:46 pm on a Wednesday night, reading and typing away. At least, you weren’t alone. Not that you were counting, but Conrad hadn’t emerged from his office in over three hours. And he didn’t really have to – with a private washroom, and probably a hidden kitchenette in the wall paneling, why would he?

Perhaps you would look at getting a mini-fridge for your desk if these late-night tasks continued. Your stomach rumbled again with hunger as you reached for the next folder.

Operation ‘Blue Sea’. By far the largest in the company, and the biggest consumer of resources with little to show for profitability. Of all the initiatives in the portfolio, it did look the oddest, but admittedly, you were still coming up to speed on federally-funded projects. You poured over the funding update, trying to condense the information for the slide. 

“I thought you might be hungry.”

You looked up, startled by the sudden mellifluous tone. How had you not heard him exit his office and walk to your desk?

“I…,” you shook your head clear, “I am, sir, but I should really finish this. You have your investing committee meeting up first tomorrow.”

“I do, indeed. And the night is far from over,” he paused, the corner of his mouth lifting as if in regret, “but needs must.”

You eyed him warily, unable to tell if he was making a joke. Had you ever seen him eat? Yes, he’d sipped from coffee mugs, teacups and to-go cups – but you didn’t think you’d ever seen the man ingest food.

“Come on,” he nodded for the suite door, “I know the perfect place.”

His tone told you that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so you rose, grabbing your purse and scarf. Early autumn had brought a touch of chill to the daily breeze, but not enough to require a coat. Of course, Conrad was all buttoned-up in his perpetual state of perfection. 

Following him into the elevator, riding in companionable silence with the knowledge that you two were actually leaving together, getting food together…part of you wasn't convinced that this wasn’t a hunger-induced hallucination, while the schoolgirl part of you was giddy with the prospect of a public outing with such a man.

Not that this was anywhere near a date.

“This way.” He turned in the parking garage, dulcet tones echoing off the concrete surfaces.

Dutifully, you followed, just resisting an eye-roll as he strolled up to a gleaming white car. A Jaguar from the markings. 

Of course. Of course, a man in his position would drive such a flashy, sleek, _sexy_ vehicle. He held open the passenger door without further ado, and you didn’t make a fuss about his show of chivalry. As with all things, you knew when to pick your battles. And accepting his dinner not-quite-invitation, sitting in his car, going to a place of his choosing – you knew better to let it play out for now.

He slid with fluid grace into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him as the car roared to life. The buttery leather of your seat rumbled with the silky purr of the engine for the briefest second before the gears shifted and the car shot out into the night.

One big, seductive power play. How many other women had he poured into this same seat who just opened their legs at the sight of him at the wheel? Admittedly, it was an extremely appealing sight – the effortless ease with which he handled the tightly coiled power and navigated the city traffic. Faint piano music filled the interior, just audible over the engine’s steady growl.

It took you a few measures, but then you recognized it. Your piano teacher would be so proud. “Beethoven,” you glanced over at him with a small smile, “if I’m not mistaken.”

He nodded. “Very good.” The music stretched a little further between you. “Are you a classical music fan, or do you play?”

“A little of both, I suppose. I enjoy a good symphony when I can spare the time. And I took piano lessons through school. Sacrificed it to pursue a more practical career.”

“A shame, really. The world can always use more talented artists.”

You held back a snort. “I wouldn’t say I was a talented artist.”

“Perhaps not, but you’re not the type to accept failure.”

You licked your lips, suddenly uncertain. “And what of yourself? Classical music fan, or do you play?”

“Yes, to both.”

Your gaze dropped to his hands on the steering wheel. Such long, elegant, strong fingers. Perfect pianist’s hands. A blush rose on your cheeks as you turned to look out the windshield. “Well, they do say there’s a correlation between engineering and music.”

“Of course.” He sounded almost bored. “Most of my senior staff are amateur musicians of some kind.”

The thought made you pause. Did he already know that you played piano _before_ asking you? How could he possibly know that? There was no official record of all those years you sat on Mrs. Campbell’s bench with her metronome and stern instructions in your ear. Was there?

Suddenly, the interior felt suffocating and your sense of unease grew. Just what sort of man was Conrad? You knew he was powerful within the walls of LOKI…but just how far did that power extend outside those walls?

He turned off the main street, gliding down a narrow lane that teemed with store and restaurant fronts. You squinted at the passing names, not sure if you’d heard of any of them. Just where exactly were you? 

The car rolled to a stop in front of an unassuming building. Unassuming, but not inelegant. Burgundy lacquer coated the front and swooping gold script simply read **Sora’s**. Conrad exited the vehicle and you closely followed, not giving him the opportunity to come around for your door again. He did, however, hold the restaurant door open for you to pass through first. 

Couples sat at the majority of tables as servers bustled about. The air was rich with aromas of spices and savory ramen flavors that made your mouth water. A warm, steady hand ghosted the small of your back and you caught a sudden hint of subtle, woodsy cologne. You chased the scent, taking a deep breath. Conrad brushed by you just as quick as he had stepped close - leaving you reeling in his wake. What was wrong with you? One minute you were drooling over the restaurant smells, and the next, wanting only to smell your boss’ cologne. 

God, you needed food. And wine, probably. Lots of wine. 

Conrad stepped up to the host, a smile lighting his face as he was obviously recognized. The host smiled wide, speaking in a smooth Japanese dialect as he gestured at your boss. Conrad returned the man’s greeting, Japanese syllables rolling effortlessly off his tongue. The host handed over a menu and Conrad took it with grace. 

“Here,” he handed it to you, “choose anything you’d like.” 

You skimmed the selections. “What would you recommend?” 

He indicated a couple, and it wasn’t a hard choice. Once he relayed your order to the host, and the host scurried off towards the kitchen, you couldn’t hold back, looking to Conrad with a small smile. “I didn’t know you spoke Japanese.” 

He looked over with a quirked brow, as if surprised at your boldness. “You haven’t needed to know.”

“Did you learn after becoming CEO? Or was this a skill you brought to the position?” 

“You don’t ask such trite questions. I suggest you don’t start now.” 

You froze on the sharp remark. What had changed between the conversation in the car, the touch to your back, and right now to warrant such a response? Perhaps he was uncomfortable in a public setting, talking about himself. Perhaps when you got him alone in the car again, you could...no, there would be no _could_.

In surprisingly short order, a server rushed to the front with a carry-out bag as the host motioned Conrad forward. 

“Sir,” you called after him, “please let me pay for my dinner.” 

He ignored you, accepting the bag with a nod and parting words that you didn’t understand. Without any further exchange, he turned, easily side-stepping you and holding open the restaurant door in silent expectation. 

You didn’t hold back your glare as you brushed by him. All at once, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d played you. That he’d orchestrated the entire outing to his exact specifications. It was the only explanation why the food had arrived so quick after placing the order and why he didn't pay in person.

You sighed as you settled back into the passenger seat. “Let me see if I understand this right,” you said as Beethoven’s gentle strains resumed, “you called ahead and paid in advance. Of course, you placed your order over the phone, but as far as my food…how did you know what I would choose?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in the passing streetlight. “It’s commonplace for first-timers to ask a regular for their recommendation. Knowing what I would recommend for you helped narrow the selection so the kitchen could plan in advance.”

“But there was still no guarantee that I would pick from your recommendations.”

“There’s very few guarantees on anything, but there's one predictable truth of humanity – the truth that you crave subjugation. You had the freedom of choice, and yet you chose to defer to my direction, instead.”

“Predictable truth of humanity?” You arched a brow in disbelief, offense prickling along your spine. Who did Conrad think he was? “Is that true of you, too, sir?” 

Nothing about Conrad’s demeanor suggested that he enjoyed surrendering control. In fact, he seemed much more the type to enact subjugation than surrender to it. 

Nothing about that thought was comforting.

You turned to glare out the window as he offered no answer to your question. A throng of people had gathered outside of a large building – you couldn’t tell what. Some people held signs for peace, equality; others held hands, small candles, offered prayers and songs; each protesting the injustice that ran rampant and the need for a changed world. 

Conrad’s voice carried softly. “They say we live in the most developed, advanced civilization in all of human history. Yet society rots around us. Global injustice of those still judged for their race, nationality, gender, creed. The superpowers of the world crumble under the very weight of their titles - divided, conflicted - and fail to learn the lessons from history. The Romans proved that military might is not enough to survive. Internal divisions, squabbles – failure at administrating peace – ate the Persian and Mongol empires from within. Focus cannot just be on one strength with the rest ignored; nor, is it worth the risk of burnout from fortifying all fronts at once as the British Empire once did.”

You turned towards him, brow furrowed in the low light. Where was he going with this?

His gaze focused out the windshield, but there was no mistaking the serene conviction on his face. “With each protest, each bombing, each hungry mouth that starves to death – we are witnessing the decline of the modern age as we know it. The leaders of this world, this _realm_ , have been blind too long to acknowledge the problem. And their arrogant, blind ignorance will be their downfall.”

You swallowed, taking in everything he said. It was certainly an unexpected turn of conversation. “You’ve clearly spent a lot of time thinking about this. It’s almost a wonder you aren’t in politics.”

“Their games are meaningless drivel. Their false promises and continual inability to affect global change drive us further into decay.”

“Then…then what are you suggesting? Yes, I agree – change is needed. But you…you do recognize the throne from which you preach?” You couldn’t help a small scoff of disbelief. “You sneer at powerful people on high, making decisions for the world – but how are you any different? Sitting atop the throne of the largest tech giant in the world? One could argue that almost gives you a more powerful platform. At least, everyone knows that you’re just out to make money for the company.”

“Do not mistake me for a robber baron.” His voice lost none of its clipped calm, despite your words. “The opportunities afforded by this position will be made clear to the world soon enough. As will the knowledge that with the right support, the right drive to succeed – change can be realized. For the good of all.”

You had to admit it was a nice thought. A world for the good of all, not just those who the powerful decided it was for. You turned to the window, not entirely sure what to make of the conversation. It surprised you, honestly. You’d never given Conrad enough credit to consider others beyond himself. Yet here he was…sympathetic to the need for global change.

Maybe, just maybe…you could agree with him. You nodded slowly. “For the good of all.”


	3. 5 Months - Part I

It didn’t make sense. Month after month, update after update. Across all the divisions, all the departments - one eyesore project initiative sat apart from the rest. Operation ‘Blue Sea’.

You may have only had this position for five months, but you knew a hemorrhaging wound when you saw one. How could anyone with any business sense see the amount of money spent on this project without adding a single dollar to the company’s bottom line? You had to know more.

Operation ‘Blue Sea’ – a government defense contract funded as an exploratory effort to develop an advanced warfare submarine prototype, the details of which were highly classified. Even the project location had been redacted. Scanning the record of invoices, it was easy to see the last one that the government had paid...was over four years ago.

You squinted at your laptop. If the last payment from the government had been over four years ago, then who funded the project now? Who paid these additional millions of investment? You clicked on the latest invoice, scanning for the initials of the person who approved the payment. Also redacted.

It didn’t look good, but you hoped there was an explanation. Perhaps the answers hid in the redacted text. Perhaps the project was being used as an internal improvement opportunity. But what could possibly be the benefit to the company at large? And why hide it in a scrapped submarine project?

You had no choice but to take it to Conrad. Either you needed a higher security clearance for the redacted information or needed his agreement to close the project, cutting off the mystery source of money. You found an opening on his calendar and set the meeting.

The passing hours gave you time to think, to strategize. To firm up your proposed solution. Obviously, it made the most sense to shut the project down. To stop the cash flow and dig to the bottom of what those funds were really being used for. You could only hope that you hadn’t stumbled onto an embezzlement scheme. Or maybe Conrad would reward you for such a discovery. That seemed unlikely, though. Your boss kept a tight watch on his company, so it stood to reason he knew that Operation ‘Blue Sea’ was ongoing.

A paranoid part of you hoped that you hadn’t accidentally stumbled onto something worse…something that Conrad didn’t want you to know. The implications were too sickening to linger on, so you focused back on your inbox.

At the appointed meeting time, you knocked on his door. He bid you entry and you sat in the chair opposite his desk. Now that winter’s chill had settled in, he was never seen in his shirtsleeves. Absently, it made you wonder if he was cold-natured. Would his fingers be chilly to the touch? Or warmed by the steaming cup of tea that rested at his elbow?

You didn’t bother with pleasantries. You knew they didn’t matter to him. “Sir, I took a deeper look at the divisional financial updates, and specifically wanted to discuss Operation ‘Blue Sea’.” You ran through your findings on the end of official cash flow and the start of the mystery source. “This project is guzzling money without a known source, and hasn’t produced any measurable output since the government pulled out four years ago. With your permission, sir, I propose to shut it down. To find out where the funneled cash has been used – hopefully we’re not looking at an embezzlement scandal – and take the next actions appropriately.”

He sat, largely unmoving, as you laid out the details and your proposal. His eyes had barely skimmed the project file printouts that you laid before him. If anything, he looked a curious mix of proud and disappointed. Nothing about his calm reaction – or lack of reaction – set you at ease.

Suddenly, he blinked rapidly with a dismissive sigh as he reached for his tea. “I had suspected something was afoot in my company. It took you a little longer than I anticipated, but it’s of little consequence.”

What did he mean by that? Surely, he didn’t move you into this position to uncover rotten apples in the company’s barrel. This hadn’t exactly been hidden, but maybe Conrad was just too busy to be bothered by the details. But that thought didn’t sit well with you, either – he was the very definition of attention to detail.

You moistened your lips, unsure. “Forgive me, sir, but you seem–.”

“I’ll have your clearance level upgraded on Monday to begin your investigation in full.” His teacup clinked softly against the saucer. “I expect you to keep all discussions of Operation ‘Blue Sea’ confidential between us, and discuss it with no one outside the confines of this office.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” You knew what was at stake with this investigation. Maybe he did, too, given how quickly he acquiesced to secure higher credentials for you to access redacted information. Your brain wanted to question it, but maybe, you’d just take the easy victory.

His fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop, unbothered as you sat there in silence. You debated finding something to say. But he wasn’t a man for small talk and he obviously didn’t want to talk about the situation around Operation ‘Blue Sea’. Which also didn’t make sense to you – what CEO wouldn’t be immediately concerned with the future of his company if he found out about a potentially illegal scheme happening right under his nose?

His voice carried quietly over the tapping of keys. “You made decisions about the trajectory of my company long before you were officially empowered to do so. It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re in this position to broaden that scope of responsibility and align us for every future success.” His gaze lifted from the laptop, eyes glittering with an unnerving, mischievous intent. “Your discovery is deserving of a treat, wouldn’t you say?”

Nothing about this felt right. You shook you heard, unsure. “I - it’s the job, sir - just doing what you asked. I suppose...it’s your decision if that’s worthy of a treat.”

The corner of his mouth lifted with silent approval as his sharp mind worked behind those mesmerizing, icy eyes. “Tell me,” he spoke softly at last, “are you free this evening?”

This evening? Friday night? Your brow pinched in confusion. “Sir, tonight’s the Secretary’s holiday benefit, and you’re attend -.”

“Yes, I’m aware of my plans tonight. I asked about you.”

“Me?” Your eyes widened and you fought back a guffaw. “Me, no. No, I’m not attending.”

“Then let’s remedy that, shall we?” He reached for his phone that rested on his desktop.

“Sir, I - I couldn’t possibly. And you…,” you swallowed, unsure to continue but unwilling to back down, “your valet sent a note - you’re set to take Galinda Barrett.”

“Yes, the fashion photographer turned Pulitzer Prize winner,” he glanced up with a wry look, “I don’t think she’ll be too brokenhearted.”

Shit, what else could you say? You glanced at your LOKI smartwatch, noting the time. The gala started at 8:30 and it was past 3:30 now...how could you possibly even have a suitable dress for such a formal occasion?

He looked back to his phone, fingers flying over the smooth surface. “Take the rest of the afternoon off. Go straight to Pierre & Sons, a reliable clothier. Ask for Jean-Louis, he’ll know to expect your arrival. From there, they’ll advise your next stop.”

“Sir, that’s really...very generous of you, but there’s no need. I…,” you paused, unable to believe it, your stomach twisting, “I can’t let you stand up Galinda.”

He paused from his phone, pinning you with the full weight of his stare. “Do you remember what I told you from the very beginning?”

You wracked your brain, trying to recall. He’d imparted so many expectations, but then you remembered - that first meeting, when he first offered you a chair. You could hear his elegant voice reciting the same syllables, and you knew you were sunk. “Yes, sir,” you nodded slowly, “when you make an offer, you expect it to be received.”

He nodded, approval lurking in his piercing gaze. Approval and something darker, something possessive. “Very good. Now from glancing at your watch, you must know time is of the essence. I shall see you at 8:05 tonight.”

You recognized a dismissal when you heard it, still stunned at the turn in conversation. You wondered what would have happened if you still refused. But as you pushed through his office double doors, back out into the main area with your desk – you realized that no one ever said no to Thomas Conrad. He always had an answer and never gave anyone the opportunity.

At least this was just one night, one black-tie holiday charity function. He was officially attending on the corporation’s behalf, so at least it wasn’t a personal social engagement. But still…the sense of uneasy dread lingered in your gut as you queued up directions to Pierre & Sons.

The drive went quick. Sure, your Audi was nowhere near the same caliber as his Jag, but you still enjoyed driving it. Far more practical and within your budget. Once parked, you took the three steps up to the clean, whitewashed brick storefront. A soft bell chimed on your entrance as you were hit with the pleasant smell of cinnamon and clove. Holiday carols played in elegant string arrangements as a kind-faced man greeted you from behind the main counter. “Good afternoon, ma’am. How may I help you?”

“Good afternoon. I have an appointment, I think. Mr. Conrad said to ask for Jean-Louis. I’m –.”

Your name sounded over your shoulder and you couldn’t help but turn. A tall man, impeccably dressed in bold patterns that should have clashed but didn’t, stood in the awning of a doorway, sizing you from head to toe. “Yes, I knew it was you!” His smile grew, wide and proud. “You match Mr. Conrad’s description perfectly. Come along, vites, _vites_ ,” he motioned you into the room, “Mr. Conrad made clear that we’re on a limited schedule. And there’s so much to do!”

The hours rushed by in a whirlwind of fabric, makeup and hairspray. Admittedly, it was all rather decadent. The corset was equal parts luxurious and stiff against your torso, cinched with laces and hooked in place to curve your hips and breasts into just the right shape without suffocating you. Silken panties covered more than you expected but still left you feeling virtually naked under your dress of such a fine fabric and cut, in a color that perfectly complimented your skin tone. Where you had been concerned about makeup hiding your face, it simply enhanced your natural features. Soft highlights drew focus to your eyes, and you lips looked lush. The deceptively simple up-do showed off the slope of your neck down to the dress’ flattering neckline.

Looking in the mirror for the final time, the dress hugged the shape of the corset without revealing what lay beneath, and you couldn’t deny the obvious truth. You looked beautiful. Strangely enough and more importantly, you actually _felt_ beautiful.

Jean-Louis smiled approvingly. “That’s why I do this job,” he said, “for that smile right there. The one that knows what it is to be beautiful.”

He reached to the clothes rack for a long, black garment. The fabric was velvet, rich and heavy as it slid against your skin, covering up your elegant gown. Of course, the long velvet coat – more of a cape with sleeves – fit you eerily just as well as the dress. He smiled in approval. “A finishing touch. Can’t have you wearing just any old coat - it’s already cold out, and he did say it was going to be windy.”

Windy?

Before you could question it further, he shooed you from the room. As you emerged into the shop front, you were startled that night had fallen. Your watch was somewhere in the garment bag that Jean-Louis had shoved your workwear into, along with your phone - you had no clue of the time.

A nondescript man in a nondescript black suit lingered near the door, inclining his head on your approach, wishing you a good evening by name.

You eyed him warily, already suspecting the creepy truth. “Good evening. I’m assuming Mr. Conrad sent you?”

“Indeed, miss. He knew you would be in need of a driver to escort you.”

“A driver? No, I have my car…I can drive.” Fortunately, the heels you wore were relatively sensible. As tall as you already were, you couldn’t stand taller than Mr. Conrad.

“We’ll be taking your car, miss.” He held out a hand in silent query.

You’d tolerated it all afternoon, but this was the last straw. There would be words with Mr. Conrad tonight. But you knew better than to shoot the messenger, so you yielded your car key.

It felt surreal to ride in the backseat of your own vehicle with a glorified chauffeur at the wheel. You watched the city streets blur by, noting that you were most certainly not heading to your apartment. Instead, the driver glided to a stop in front of a sleek, modern building that stretched high to the sky. There was no obvious sign announcing what this building was – but the lack of signage told you plenty. Only the super wealthy and powerful didn’t announce where they lived. And now…now you stood at the base of what could only be Conrad’s apartment building.

The driver ushered you forward, and the doorman opened the door. “Good evening,” again another greeting by your name, “Mr. Conrad is expecting you.”

You glared around the modern, elegant, empty lobby as frustration consumed you. Were you supposed to find him? Was he coming down to you? No one told you anything but seemed to know everything. You hated feeling at a disadvantage, and you certainly were.

You knew just what Mr. Conrad wanted you to know. And nothing more.

Nothing helped your sense of irritation, not even when he finally came around the corner. Of course, he looked killer in a bespoke tuxedo that fit his frame like a second skin. If possible, his hair looked more elegantly styled and he moved with such effortless, commanding grace. The sight of him also did nothing to ease the heat that danced along your skin ever since you first slipped into the silky undergarments.

His eyes traveled up and down the length of your body, not even trying to hide his assessment. At last those clear eyes found yours, an undercurrent of satisfied amusement lurking in their depths. “If you weren’t scowling so intently, I’d dare say you look absolutely stunning.”

“I don’t relish the compliment, Mr. Conrad.” You snapped, at the end of your rope. “You sent a driver to the clothier. I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of driving my own car – you can’t just -.” Your words stalled as he stepped closer, leveraging his handsome, intimidating height.

He purred, low and dangerous. “Can’t just…what?”

That horrible, distracting, _intoxicating_ cologne surrounded you, threatening your concentration. God, why did he have to smell so good?

“Can’t just…,” you licked you lips, meeting his gaze, “can’t just control me like that.”

His lips merely curled in an answering smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “You haven’t had control since you first set foot in my office, darling. So, don’t delude yourself into thinking that you have it now. You’ve merely had the illusion that I wanted you to have - but starting tonight, all that changes.”

You took an instinctive step back but a strong, solid hand pressed to the small of your back, keeping you close to him. Every fight or flight instinct kicked into high gear as his other arm bracketed your shoulders. You were trapped in what would effectively look like a harmless lovers’ embrace.

But there was nothing harmless about the razor sharp gleam of his eyes. “You see, I need to recruit someone of your determined drive, your sharp focus. I’d rather you be a willing participant – it makes things so much easier, and in your unique case, would prove particularly pleasurable.”

“I…I don’t understand,” you glared back at him, stiffening at the tone of his voice, “recruit me? I already work for you.”

He chuckled again, another dark, sinister sound. “If only ‘twere so. Now come along, darling; we mustn’t be late.”

“I won’t go anywhere with you.” This was going nowhere good, and you struggled to break free, to pull back. But he held you fast, pivoting to guide you towards the elevator in slow, forced steps with deceptive strength. If the doormen noticed your struggles, they paid no obvious attention or took action to intervene.

Fear sank in your stomach as you realized you were powerless. If Conrad had somehow bought those men off, anticipating your reaction…then, maybe you were just fucked.

“I do wish you would calm down,” he said smoothly, unruffled by your protest, “please accept my assurance that I mean you no harm.”

“Then, won’t you just tell me what you want. And why!”

“Not here.” His tone brokered no argument as the elevator chimed low.

He led you forward into the brass and mirrored elevator interior. Reaching around you, he pushed a button simply labeled ‘T’, and the elevator started upwards, floors ticking by.

You swallowed, the heat from his hand still on your back seeping through the velvet coat to your dress. “Where are we going?”

“To the benefit, of course.”

“Then, shouldn’t we be going down?” You’d just assumed that the Jag would make another appearance, instead of ascending to…wherever you were going.

The elevator chimed your arrival and the doors slid open. Windows surrounded the elevator lobby, and you could see the shining lights of the city beyond the building’s rooftop. You could also see the glass doors leading to a set of steps up to a helipad. A helipad with a black, sleek, waiting helicopter.

You forced another hard swallow, your heart racing. Just where exactly was this benefit?

“Come along,” he guided you forward with the strength of his body, “we’ve already dallied too long.”

The cold air bit at your skin as you navigated through the glass doors and up to the helipad. The blades spun at low speed, whipping your dress and coat about your feet as you moved forward in his embrace. There would be no chance for escape once confined in the cabin with him. But, surely, with the crowded benefit, you would at least be safe until the return trip.

Right?

The cabin door slid closed behind him and the whirring rotor noise receded to a dull roar in the background. Of course, the interior was lovely - cream-colored leather, posh wood finishes, even a fringed table lamp between the two cushy seats.

Tense silence stretched as the helicopter lifted away. Your hands gripped the armrests, part never having flown in a helicopter before, part in adrenaline-fueled frustration.

A million things ran through your mind. Things you wanted to say. Things you wanted to yell. Foul names you wanted to call him. But reason stilled your tongue as the city lights flew by. This was his domain and upsetting him further, well…that certainly couldn’t bode well for you.

“Do you recall our conversation on the way to dinner some months ago?” He sounded eerily calm, pensive. “The society that rots around us?”

How could you not? “Yes." You weren’t sure what brought about the abrupt change in conversation, but you had acknowledged the idea at the time. "There was...a surprising amount of truth to it.”

“Too much truth, in fact. Too much truth to let it run unchecked any longer.”

A shudder ran down your spine and you couldn’t stop from glancing over at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Just…what do you mean by that?”

He stared out the window, eyes focused and calculating as he surveyed the world below. Like a king on high. An emperor of his domain. The thought roiled in your gut. Who…who was this man?

He turned from the window, the picture of clam, steady control. “They say the world has only known five great, influential empires in the entire history of civilization. A rather shocking fact, especially considering the ingenuity and connectivity of the modern world. Thus, the irony – at a time when the world is more connected than ever, it stands the most disjointed.”

The implication didn’t make sense as you blinked, trying to understand. “So, what…? You…you’re going to…unify everyone?”

“Not just unify.” His face hardened with a razor sharp edge. “A world where borders, race, genders are no longer definitions or limits. A world where only the capacity of one’s mind and the will to succeed determine your destiny. A truly free world.”

“But that’s insane!”

“Is it?” He chuckled, dark and chilling. “What’s insane is continuing to let the old guard run unchallenged. Perpetuating old ideologies because they’re too myopic to glimpse beyond their own so-called-grandeur to what the world could be.”

“But you couldn’t possibly….,” you scrambled to verbalize your thoughts, “to be clear, you are talking about...overthrowing the global order. World fucking domination, right? Like…like you’re a Bond villain!”

He sneered. “They lack true vision and conviction. You’re pardoned this once, but do not draw that comparison again.”

Your eyes widened in absurd disbelief. Either he was certifiably insane, or this was some elaborate hoax. It had to be. Sure, there was nothing playful about the man who was your boss, but…. The more you studied him, the more you came to the sinking realization.

He _meant_ it. He meant every word.

You gulped hard, thinking back to his previous words. “You…you said you wanted to ‘recruit’ me.”

“That I did.”

“Recruit me in your quest for world domination?”

“If you must phrase it so dramatically.”

You nearly barked a laugh. “This makes no sense.”

He sighed, annoyance flashing in his gaze. “You’re an intelligent woman. Certainly ambitious, with a keen eye for detail. And rest assured, world domination starts with attention to detail.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to….” You trailed off, the thought playing out in your mind. He didn’t actually expect you to say yes, did he? To go along with his crazy scheme? But fear suddenly crawled down your spine at what he would do if you refused.

He hummed softly, a disconcerting sound. “Did you know the average cruising altitude of this helicopter is 2,500 feet?”

You drew a sharp inhale, pitifully reaching for the armrest of your chair as if it would save you. But of course that had to be the alternative…he couldn’t afford to let you live if you refused him. You knew far too much now.

He slid out of his seat with silent ease, dropping to a knee on the cabin floor in front of you. His scent flooded your senses, hands warm and gentle as they cupped your jaw. He raised your head until all you could see were two pools of spellbinding, icy blue. “Punishment only comes with misdeed; cruelty only with cause. Until you give me a cause, you have nothing to fear from me. It’s as true now as it was on the ground.”

Your heart threatened to burst in your chest. “How...how can you expect me to stand by and watch such...destruction?”

“What makes you think you’ll be watching?” His thumb caressed your cheek, his face cracking in a mocking, pitying smile. “My dear, you’ve already been _helping_.”

Your stomach dropped to your feet. How was that possible? You’d only been doing your job - you’d only been doing... _exactly what he asked_. The realization seized you, eyes widening. “You’re hiding it in LOKI. Whatever your plan, your scheme is...you’re running it through the company.” You instantly recalled the meeting earlier today and the last piece fell into place. “Operation 'Blue Sea'."

He leaned forward, soft lips pressing to your forehead. A blessing. A benediction. A mollification. 

Your breath caught at the gentle sensation as his kiss fell to your cheek. The tip of your nose. Nothing about his touch should ignite your blood given the circumstances, but heat pooled low in your core all the same. Your heart raced, anticipating his next touch...you moistened your lips without thinking, leaning into his touch.

He pulled back ever so slightly, breath ghosting your lips. “You know, I do think something is missing. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Your brow furrowed, taken aback at the statement and his intimate presence. “Missing…?”

His hands fell away from your face and you shivered from the chill. You didn’t realize just how warm his touch was in comparison to the cabin air. He reached into his jacket, extracting a long, slim velvet case. He pulled the lid open and your eyes widened to take in the sheer amount of diamonds.

He rumbled his approval of your reaction. “When Jean-Louis notified me of your gown’s neckline, I couldn’t resist.” Balancing the case on his bent knee, he pulled the necklace free, the layers of diamonds swinging and glittering in the light.

You didn’t dare move, too stunned at the gesture, at what must be an exorbitant price tag, at what was so clearly a statement of possession as he fastened the necklace around your neck. The metal was chilly against your skin and the weight undeniable Your hand rose to caress the tiered necklace, brushing over the immaculate stones.

His eyes darkened with smoldering satisfaction, the smuggest of closed-mouthed grins on his handsome face. God, you wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss him.

He rose, settling back into his seat, smoothing out his jacket. “I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself tonight, and put all of this conversation from your mind.” The helicopter started to descend. “This is my treat for you, after all.”

What was there for you to say? You couldn’t very well say anything to anyone at the benefit. There was absolutely no proof, and if he was hiding in plain sight in such a large corporation, then clearly...clearly you weren’t the only recruit to his crusade. You glanced over at him as the helicopter touched down gently. “Tell me one thing, though.”

He looked over, arching an elegant brow.

You swallowed hard, nodding at the sprawling mansion outside the window. “How many of the people here are also your ‘recruits’?”

His smile widened, mischievous and cold. “More than you’d think.”


	4. 5 Months - Part II

The cabin door opened, ushering in the noise of the rotor, and Conrad slipped out with fluid grace. He extended his hand and you drew a deep, steadying breath, taking it to step out into the cold night. 

The mansion looked even bigger now that you stood before it. You couldn’t say where you were outside the city, but this had to be quite the neighborhood for this property to have its own helipad. 

Conrad tucked your arm through his, resting his other hand atop it as he steered you up the wide, sweeping stone staircase. Of course, the doorman took Conrad’s name without question and divested you of your velvet coat just as quick. Even though this was a glorified house party, the men all wore crisp, tailored tuxedos, and women dripped in evening finery and priceless jewels. 

A glass of champagne materialized in your hand as Conrad expertly navigated the sea and flow of people, exchanging greetings in passing, his face alight with the smile that you recognized from his press releases. The smile perfected to charm and disarm. But you knew the truth…the terrifying, bewildering truth that…

Dammit, why couldn’t he have just been a handsome controlling bastard, and not a handsome controlling bastard bent on world domination? Then, maybe you could let yourself surrender to every natural instinct within you that flared to life in the helicopter. The instincts that demanded you have him - preferably above you, preferably deep in you. 

Still on his arm, Conrad’s appeal was near impossible to ignore. But the weight of surrounding, curious stares helped. You wore a cordial smile, glancing among the sea of unfamiliar faces, making introductions and sipping your champagne as you approached the night’s host.

Thaddeus Ross stood with a regal bearing, face warm with his own two-faced, politician’s smile. “Good evening, Thomas,” he reached for Conrad’s hand in a solid shake, “glad you could attend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary.” Conrad’s smile filled to full megawatt. “I’m glad to see you look fighting fit. The gossip mill had painted a rather bleak tale of your shoulder surgery.”

“Yes. The recovery was more arduous than anticipated, but I’m cleared to resume squash after the start of the new year.”

Conrad nodded, obviously pleased. “Splendid. Then, we shall have to arrange a court time.” He turned his disarming smile on you. “The Secretary here has one of the meanest backhands I’ve ever encountered.”

Ross scoffed. “Always the charmer, Thomas. It’ll get you in trouble one day. Now, who is this lovely woman at your side?”

Introductions passed in a flurry. Ross’ face pinched with vague recognition on your name. “You know, I recall your name…direct from Thomas’ office, correct? His administrative assistant?”

The corners of your moth pinched with irritation. “Not entirely, sir. I’m involved with the business operations of the company –“

“You know, Thomas,” Ross barreled ahead, not paying you any mind, “I’ve just received a case of 25-yr Pappy Van Winkle. What’s say we crack it open?”

“Splendid idea, sir.” Conrad turned towards you, swooping in to peek your cheek. “I shan’t be long, darling.” He released your arm and stepped away, his conversation with Ross fading into the din of the party.

Your cheeks flushed, mouth pinched tight, wanting only to yell after him. 

You weren’t just some eye-candy secretary on Conrad’s arm to be so easily tossed aside. He had chosen you for the role. He had given you nearly every key in the company. And it wasn’t because you were a brainless, easy fuck.

You fumed, taking a sip of champagne. 

“You’ll have to forgive Mr. Ross,” a regal alto voice said over your shoulder. You turned to see a stunning woman with raven hair in a bold, red gown that screamed money and taste. “He still thinks a woman’s place is bent over a stove, a Xerox machine, or his cock.” 

You couldn’t stop a soft, unsure laugh as you nodded slowly. “He does give that impression.” 

The woman eyed you with a shrewd, amused edge as she held out her hand. “Amelia Young.” 

You returned her handshake, offering your name in return. As you drew your hand back, you couldn’t help but notice a group of women, three or four strong, nodding in your direction and trying, but failing, to not stare so directly. 

Amelia laughed slow at your side. “Just ignore them.” She looped her arm through yours, steering you away. “They’re just jealous, watching you waltz in on Tom’s arm. Wearing his diamonds.” She sighed almost wistfully. “He’s always had such impeccable taste.” 

Your eyebrows climbed to your hairline. You’d never known anyone to call him Thomas before tonight, let alone _Tom_. You shook your head, blinking in disbelief. “That’s…rather forward of you.” 

“Ex-lovers have every right.” 

“Well, that’s not…not what he and I are.” 

“Well, not ‘ex’ certainly -” 

“I mean lovers.” You turned to Amelia with a hard gaze, fed up with the assumptions. “We’re not lovers.” 

She hummed low, the sound full of secrets you couldn’t begin to unravel. “He won’t let you take off those diamonds until he’s had you six ways to Sunday. You’re not stupid, so I’m sure you know he’s a _very_ strategic man.” Her matching red lips curled around the rim of her champagne glass as she nodded across the room. 

You followed her gaze, easily spotting Conrad. He stood among a group of five men with that wide, boyish smile on his face as the group laughed around him. His eyes found yours effortlessly, his smile shifting for the briefest of seconds to something sharp, dangerous - then it flashed back to light playfulness. The seamless transition raced a shiver down your spine. 

Those poor fools. If only they knew they had a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

And no, not a wolf. A fucking crocodile. 

Amelia sighed lightly. “May I also caution another word of wisdom?” She didn’t wait for your response. “You needn’t bother trying to defend what you do at LOKI. The minute Tom dropped Galinda for his secretary, it became the hottest gossip of the scene –“

“I am _not_ his secretary.”

“You won’t convince anyone here differently. Especially not when Secretary Ross perpetuates it for all to see.”

“What about you?” You leveled her with a hard look. “You’re obviously intelligent, successful. Mr. Conrad doesn’t cheat himself on brains or beauty.”

Amelia chuckled, low and rich. “How telling that you still call him ‘Mr. Conrad’. But you’re not wrong – I’m an equity partner at a firm in the city. Cross, Young and Pine – perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

Of course, you’d heard of it. Cross, Young and Pine was the largest law firm in the city.

“That’s why I just can’t riddle it out,” Amelia continued, “Tom’s always set his sights on a partner suitable for his position, capable of presenting just the image he wants. Take Galinda, for example – award-winning and gorgeous. What do you possibly have to compete with that?” She glanced around the room. “That’s the exact question on everyone’s mind right now. What did you do to be worthy of those diamonds?

“I did my job. I’m still doing my job. If helping chart record-setting revenue each quarter, expanding the world’s already largest tech giant, further cementing Mr. Conrad’s successful legacy isn’t enough for you – and this room – then…perhaps something in this room needs to change.”

Oh, god. Were those truly your words? Or… _his_?

Your gaze narrowed ever so slightly, wondering. Surely…surely Amelia wasn’t also recruited? Surely, he knew better than to fold in lovers. Lovers presented impossible to control emotional risk. Far better to stick to the impersonal rationale of business logic as a recruitment basis, in your mind.

Your stomach churned on the thought. God, just one conversation in a helicopter and you were already starting to see…. But that’s when you wondered – was Amelia a deliberate plant? You knew Conrad planned his moves five steps ahead – had he told Amelia to orchestrate this conversation to sway you into accepting his recruitment?

Something in Amelia’s upturned mouth and upset gaze told you different, though. No, it looked more like she was just a jealous ex, out to needle the next in line. “You’re right, something does need to change,” she shook her head, the movement disparaging, “I’ll have to have a word with Secretary Ross about allowing esteemed guests to bring their office trash to such a function.”

“Careful, Amelia,” you snapped, “that didn’t used to mean me. Someday, that might just include you, too.”

You turned from her, weaving through the crowd, not wanting to hear another word. No one seemed to pay any mind to your departure and Amelia didn’t follow you. You spied doors leading to an expansive terrace, stepping out into the night to escape the cheery suffocation.

The winter wind bit at your skin, rippling shivers down your spine, but you paid it little mind. Amelia’s words echoed in your mind, incensing you further. You were sick of it – all the assumptions, all the gossip. You were worth far more than what you had under your dress, and if that entire room thought you only got to where you were because you let him fuck you…. 

How you wanted to set the record straight. How you wanted to prove them all wrong.

Intransigent misogynists.

Of course, you partly blamed Conrad, too. He hadn’t bothered to speak in your favor when Ross steamrolled you earlier. In fact, he’d been quick to jump on the Secretary’s suggestion to adjourn for bourbon. You had quite a fondness for bourbon and would have enjoyed it, had you been seen as more than just the office piece of ass.

Your hands clenched against the freezing stone railing as your lips curled. You wanted to scream out into the night, to let it all go, to let loose the immense frustration of the last six hours. 

Heavy warmth fell around your shoulders, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of Conrad’s cologne. You hung your head, instinct compelling you to further burrow into the warmth, drown yourself in something so enticing.

His voice was soft in your ear. “Do you really prefer the winter’s chill to the party inside?”

“Are you kidding?” You took a deep breath. “It’s warmer out here than that crowd inside.”

He huffed an amused breath. “An astute observation.”

“Is Amelia one your recruits?” You turned to him, hoping to discern the truth. His face, half-lift from the party inside and half-shadowed from the dark night, nearly took your breath away. The soft glow smoothed the hard angles and lines of his face, his azure eyes stunning in their clarity. 

Why did he have to be so painfully _handsome_?

He moistened his lips against the winter breeze, his eyes fixed to yours. “No. She has her own ideologies that are ill-suited to my purpose. Our liaison ran its course but is best left in a past that does not concern you.”

“Doesn’t concern me?” You scoffed. “You’re asking me to join your grand scheme; you’ve placed god knows how many thousands of dollars of diamonds around my neck – which I can read through the lines, means you expect me to sleep with you tonight – and if you want any of that, then you better fucking start being more forthcoming.”

Pride flashed in his eyes for the briefest second before it vanished, replaced by something stern, commanding, displeased. “While I admire your boldness, you would do better to mind your reckless behavior.” He stepped closer, and you wanted to take an instinctive step back. “Loose lips sink ships, as the saying goes. You know all that you need to know, and nothing more. Pressing for more information will only serve to annoy, and I’d much prefer more pleasurable courses of action in your company – as you so crudely alluded to.”

Despite the winter’s chill, you felt heat rise in your cheeks, forcing a hard swallow. “Nearly everyone assumes I fucked you to get this job.”

“And how gloriously wrong they all are.” His lips curled with a wicked edge. “Gives you the advantage.”

“Is that what you call it? The endless frustration of being regraded as little better than a ladder climber who’s not above fucking her way to the top?”

“I told you the world needed to change.”

The intensity of his gaze lit your insides on fire. God, how you wanted to stay the focus of that sharp, precise intensity. How you wanted to feel it against your lips, your skin. How you wanted that voice, low, sinful, filthy in your ear.

You tore your gaze from his, looking out over the dark lawn at the idle helicopter, as you drew a deep breath. You didn’t even realize how heavy your breathing had become in his close proximity.

The weight of his arm wrapped around your back, tucking you against his side. “Come along, darling,” he purred softly, “we’ve accomplished all that we can here.”

He lead you down the terrace stairs, out to the main lawn. All too late, you realized that you didn’t have your velvet coat, but he dismissed it, instead ushering you towards the waiting helicopter.

Ensconced in the cabin, still draped in his jacket, your frustration did little to ebb. Conrad’s suave, tempting, _infuriating_ presence did nothing to help as the helicopter lifted off and sped across the sky.

He sat next to you, calm-as-you-please, sipping from a gold-rimmed teacup and saucer. Somehow, a tea service had materialized in the cabin between your arrival and departure from Secretary Ross’ house – you shouldn’t be surprised. Especially now as he sat, looking unfairly dignified in just his crisp dress shirt and black braces, his bow tie still perfect at this throat.

At length, you nodded at the tea service. “Let me guess. Another of your recruits?”

“If you’re going to insist on guessing who is and isn’t recruited to my cause, then keep such musings to yourself. Not everyone who works for me knows the true endgame.” He glanced over with a slight curl to his lips. “And if you’re so determined to either remain silent or pick a fight for the duration of our journey, we can dispense with the rest of foreplay, and I’ll just have you right here.”

Breath punched out of your lungs, arousal slamming full throttle through you. He had no right to make it sound so easy, so definitive. Unconsciously, your legs twitched together as heat flushed your cheeks.

Of course, his perceptive gaze missed none of your reaction. He tipped his teacup back, lazily finishing the contents before setting it back on the tea tray. With the same grace as earlier, he slid from his chair, taking a knee in front of you.

You turned your head away, fighting to keep a clear head. That’s what you wanted, right? You didn’t want to fall into his arms, into his bed – you couldn’t possibly surrender to his control. To his crazed plan for world domination that you knew nothing about.

Right?

His breath rumbled low, so close to your skin. “I do hate seeing you so frustrated, darling.”

“You’re goddamned right I’m frustrated,” you grumbled, “but you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Sure, it was risky mouthing off to him. But could you let yourself cross that line? The minute you fell into his bed was the minute everyone became right about you – sleeping with the boss, and for what?

Because you _want_ , a traitorous voice whispered. Oh, how you wanted.

Soft lips fell to your turned cheek, infusing you with a new wave of his cologne mixed with evening-worn exertion. “No matter what you tell yourself in that pretty head of yours, the truth of your desire is undeniable.” The tip of his nose dragged along the skin of your jaw. “The way your breath hitches when I draw near. I suspect my cologne pleases you.” A kiss pressed to the underside of your jaw, followed by another, and your head tilted instinctively back. “The way your eyes darken with hunger the longer you gaze upon me. Mirrors my own, I would imagine.” His strong hand fell to your knee and you jolted under the delicate touch as he continued to nuzzle the skin of your jaw. “You’re positively trembling, love. Why torture yourself so?”

You breathed shakily. “Everyone already thinks I’m a power-hungry whore, and falling into bed with you does nothing to prove them wrong.” You gasped as his steady fingers teased up the inside of your thigh, sliding against soft fabric. “From earlier, I know enough now that I’m surely a liability to you – you can’t afford to not control me – just as you’ve fucking done since we first met….” You forced a hard swallow against a nibble over your racing pulse. “And despite knowing all of that – it’s fucking _maddening_ that I still want you to fuck me until I can’t see straight.” 

His hot breath rushed against your skin in a noise of wild satisfaction. Of victory. His fingers tightened on your thigh in a possessive, dominating hold. 

He had you. And you both knew it. Worse yet, you _wanted_ it. Ached for it. 

Your heart beat wildly in your chest, anticipating his next move. Waiting for his devouring kiss, hovering on the edge of his touch on your thigh that refused to seek out the ache between your legs. Your breath came in shallow draws, every nerve-ending screaming for more, for anything, for _everything_. 

“Oh, my darling.” His voice rumbled, low and unbearably smug, as the tip of his nose nuzzled your cheek. “I will have you be mine - all mine.” His nose pressed along yours, and your head tilted, driven on pure instinct. Enticing lips hovered just above yours, breathing the same electric air. 

The helicopter jolted with a gentle settling motion, punching through the cloud of arousal. You turned to the window with wide, stunned eyes, startled to see the helipad and city lights surrounding you. How had the ride gone by so fast? 

Conrad didn’t give you time to think. He pulled you from the helicopter, keeping you close at his side with the surprising strength concealed in his lithe form. The elevator doors hadn’t even closed before your back was against the mirrored wall and he engulfed you. Still, his kiss eluded you - just a teasing, out of reach promise, as he let the full length of his body press to yours, against the stiff outline of your corset, torquing your desire higher. 

His teeth closed over your earlobe and you whimpered, unable to hold back the needy sound. A feral gasp tore from his throat, rushing more heat through you. The thought of this man coming undone by you, because of you exhilarated you.

The elevator chime sounded over the blood pounding in your ears, and you found yourself pressed against him as the doors opened to reveal the lobby exclusive to his apartment. He folded you against him, your back pressed tight to the furnace of his chest. The brush of his hard, straining arousal against your backside derailed your sensible thought. 

“I wasn’t untruthful earlier - you’ve looked gorgeous all evening.” His words rumbled against your skin, deep and smooth as he navigated you through his low-lit apartment. “This dress reveals your best assets, yet keeps all your secrets.” 

You sighed, the reality of your situation sinking in your stomach as his fingers toyed along the side-zipper of your dress. Turning your head, you nuzzled against as much skin as you could reach, breathing him in. “My secrets are yours tonight.” 

He growled his approval, tugging on the zipper. “Tonight, tomorrow - whenever I desire.” 

Yes, _yes,_ your body cried out, but you choked the words off, mouthing at his skin. You couldn’t fully give him that satisfaction. His fingers slipped inside, skimming over the ridges of your corset, and his arousal twitched in approval. The sensation pulled an instinctive thrust of your hips, chasing the feel of him against you. 

His chuckle dripped with molten desire. “We’ll get to that, darling. You’re…so much more responsive than I anticipated.” 

Your hands reached back behind you, desperate for purchase. To clench in the fine fabric of his dress shirt, to tear at the catch of his trousers, to rip the braces from his shoulders. But the journey of his hand, up and over a breast, kneading the skin that mounded at the corset’s top made you further melt into him. He held you firm at his mercy, trailing that hand down your front, teasing down until he brushed the smooth silk of your underwear. God, there would be no hiding from him now. 

His clever fingers pried the delicate fabric aside, groaning deep and feral. You didn’t know if he expected you to be shaved or not, but his fingers sweeping against bare skin obviously pleased him. Another whimper tore from your throat as his fingers slipped through your folds, easily aided by what he found. 

He exhaled hard, his body shaking with the last vestiges of control. “You’re fucking soaked for me, love…how callous of me to make you wait all evening for something you so obviously want.” He thrust his hips forward as his fingers set to work in earnest, teasing both inside and out. 

You threw your head back to his shoulder, surrendering to his touch, to every sensation he flooded through your body. Your lips moved against his skin, drunk on his cologne, drunk on him. “Please, sir…please….” 

“Soon. So very soon.” His fingers fell away, abandoning the smooth fabric of your undergarments and returning to the zipper. He stepped back to further work the dress from your body until the fine fabric puddled at your feet. “Now, to the bed,” his voice conveyed full, dark authority, “and for each step, you will abandon another article, leaving the diamonds for last.” 

A nervous swallow worked down your throat as you noticed you now stood in his bedroom. A strip-tease? You’d never done that before…would - what would he consider sexy? A teasing show? Or simply pulling things off? 

His hand lightly smacked against the swell of your backside, startling you back. “Stop overthinking it. I want you naked in my bed, and I want you to unravel for me. Now…may I suggest shoes first?” 

Without further protest, you looked down to your feet, stepping out of one heel, than the other. Certainly, it wouldn’t be sexy to unevenly hobble across the floor. You took a step forward, approaching the luxurious bed as you settled a hand to the hooks of the corset. The constricting fabric eased its hold and your breasts fell free as you dared to glance over your shoulder at him. 

Thought abandoned you at the sight. His dress shirt now hung half unbuttoned from his strong shoulders, a mouthwatering swath of finely haired skin on display. With the fallen braces and the catch of his trousers undone, they slumped low on his hips, teasing the promise of such sweet fulfillment. 

You turned back for the bed, continuing to work the hooks of your corset. It fell to the floor with a solid thump and you took another step towards the bed. You could just hear the sounds of rustling, shifting cloth behind you but you didn’t look back. Raising your hands, stretching out the line of your back, you reached up for the pins in your hair. 

A solid weight crashed into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Strong fingers tore at the silk of your underwear, the delicate fabric ripping audibly as you fell forward onto the bed under the hot, solid weight of what you now realized was him. All of naked him. 

You had to see him. Twisting against him, you struggled to roll onto your back but he held you fast against the soft bed covers. God, you could feel it - the weight of his heavy cock against your thigh, and you couldn’t help but grind back into him, desperate to just feel him. His lips trailed along the back of your neck, nipping along the line of your shoulders. You’d never thought you were much of one for being dominated…but everything within you burned at his prowess.

A low chuckle rumbled his chest against your back. “Quite the compliment, darling, and we’ve barely begun.” 

Good god, had you actually said that aloud? 

He answered with another chuckle, clearly reading the shocked realization on your face. “You needn’t hide from me. Not any more, and certainly not now.” Warm, steady fingers fell to the outside of your leg, guiding and molding, contorting your back such that your legs lay parted for him, hips angled while your chest still rested against the mattress. “Let me hear you, love. Every feeling I give you.” 

Your body jolted as his fingers brushed feather-light along your dripping need. There was no need to pretend - no brain power left to censor your reactions to his touch. Nimble and delicate, his fingers settled into a rhythm - those pianist’s fingers playing you masterfully. A sudden gust of hot breath was your only warning before the flat of his tongue licked a maddening stripe that nearly catapulted you into orbit. 

Your heart was surely going to explode, twisting in his hold, surrendering everything your body had to him. His movements rolled you over onto you back, exposing yourself fully to him as he devoured you with his fingers curled deep and his tongue swirling the most exquisite patterns. Words fell from your lips, thought drowned by the onslaught of his relentless pursuit. “Oh, god…please, sir! Fuck…oh, _fuck_ ….” 

A dragging pinch of his teeth broke the dam. White hot release exploded within you, your legs tightening around him as you rode the shockwaves. His mouth closed over you, chuckling in wicked satisfaction, as his fingers continued their strokes. You gasped as lingering pleasure turned to overstimulated discomfort.

You squirmed under his continuing ministrations, trying to find some relief. But he kept pace with you, mouthing an easy, lazy design as his fingers moved. “Sir…,” you gasped, hands clenching in the sheets at the continued discomfort, “sir, please…it’s - it’s too much, too soon.” 

He lifted his gaze, breaking away for the briefest moment of respite. “Is that anyway to say thank you? You can take it, love…and when you’re ready to break, I’ll give you what we both want you to have.” His hips rolled against your thigh, tearing a moan from you. 

His mouth descended with a vengeance. Only now did you realize how gentle he was after your first release, but now - he was a man possessed. You barely recognized the sounds passing your lips as he worked you ever steadily higher. Your wayward hand landed in his hair, gripping the natural waves until a vice-like grip wrenched it free, forcing it down to the mattress. A burning knot of pleasure grew at the base of your spine, so close to the edge, teetering just _there._

His fingers and mouth withdrew, leaving you aching and bereft. A trembling gasp tore from your throat, forcing your eyes open to watch him slither up your body. His lips, tangy and wet, found yours as you folded around him. You rolled your hips, cradling his between your spread thighs as he braced on a forearm. Thick, blunt pressure rested where you wanted it most, hooking your leg around his backside to push him forward. 

He groaned low in his throat, teeth tugging your bottom lip. “Hmmm, what do we say, love?” 

You knew what he wanted to hear. “Please, sir…,” you couldn’t bring yourself to care, “please fuck me, sir.” 

He sighed in pleased satisfaction as he slammed his hips forward. A cry tore from you as you felt your body nearly split in two from the intrusion. You didn’t want to admit how long it had been since your last lover, and the sudden invasion took a moment of adjustment. But he spared you no moment to breathe, picking up where his fingers and tongue left off. It shouldn’t feel so good - the ebbing discomfort, the escalating pleasure - but you’d never felt anything more perfect. 

“Want you to feel this for days,” he punctuated his words with sharp, precise thrusts, “want you to remember who made you feel this way. Who made you cry out at the feel of his cock inside you.” 

Each filthy word in that sinful voice torqued you higher. You gripped his shoulders tight, doing your best to meet him, feeling him strike that elusive place deep within you each and every time. 

“Want you to come for me now,” he gasped, rough and serrated, “want to feel you so fucking tight on my cock. Come now, my darling.” 

Your body helplessly obeyed, convulsing around him, dragging him down to his own euphoric release. 

Sweat beaded along your forehead as you struggled to breathe. Your hand trembled as you trailed down his spine, swiping through the moisture that spotted the skin. It was easy, so easy to sink into the mattress under his weight, boneless and drifting. 

You licked your lips, debating the merit of your next words. But what would they really cost you? You pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering softly, just for him. “Thank you, sir.” 

He turned, his eyes all-consuming and impossibly dark in the close proximity. “If you think we’re done here, then you’re sorely mistaken.” 

When he finally relented and you both slumped against the mattress, spent from your fourth release and his second inside you - you’d never known a more peaceful, mindless sleep. 

Until…his lilting voice drifted in your ear, luring you back to consciousness. 

“Darling…come on now, darling.”

Slowly, you stirred against the sheets, drawing a deep breath. Everything in you hummed with sleepy, boneless contentment. Even the twinge in your muscles was pleasant.

You opened you eyes, stretching against the soft pillow, arching against the warmth of him. Rolling over, the long line of him stretched against you and distant city light played off his pale skin. He was the picture of comfortable perfection, with his head propped on a hand as he gazed down at you. It should probably unnerve you, if he was watching you sleep.

He leaned down, brushing his lips to your forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmm, absolutely sated.”

He purred, pressing another kiss to your skin. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Darkness still filled the room and you couldn’t help but wonder the time. Why had he woken you up exactly? You tilted your head, pressing your lips to the nearest available skin. “Did you want something?

His mouth curled with a dark, wicked edge as he gathered you closer to him. “You’re mine now. Here, in my bed – your body. In my office – your mind. And there’s so much that lies ahead…so much yet that we haven’t even begun to explore…” His fingers trailed over your flank, pulling an involuntary shiver from you. His face softened with approval. “So responsive, so good for me….”

Your heart accelerated at the possessive tone of his voice. None of it sat well with you, but you’d made your bed. Literally. What else could you do but lay in it? Especially since you wanted to keep on living.

His forehead rested against yours, breath hot against your lips. “So good for me,” he repeated, brushing your lips, “say it for me, love.”

You sighed, moistening your lips. “So good for you.” The words sunk like lead in your stomach. It felt like the point of no return. The ultimate surrender.

The tug of his smile pulled against your lips as he placed a lingering kiss. He pulled back with a sigh. “Rest now, darling. May I bring you anything?”

The simple offer tugged a smile to your face, a fluttery feeling erupting in your stomach. “No, thank you…that’s kind of you to offer.”

Nothing on his smile changed as he pulled back and you rolled over on your side, settling back against the pillow. The sheet shifted as he moved, the bed dipping as he pulled away to sit up. You didn’t think anything of it, letting yourself drift off in the haze of sweet exhaustion. He shifted again, the bed moving down by your feet, warm fingers caressing your ankle.

Sharp, searing pain exploded on the heel of your left foot. A cry ripped from your throat as the pain flooded you, jerking you back to reality. The solid weight of his body descended on your leg, firmly holding your foot in place as another white-hot line of pain erupted on the bottom of your foot.

“Stop! Stop!” You feebly clawed at him, crying out in another wave of agony. If he bothered to respond, you couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in your ears and your own anguished cries.

At last, the sharp pains receded, leaving a heavy, aching throb in its place. Tears streaked your face as you lay, gasping against the sheets. He shifted off your leg and you caught the gleam of a sharp metal scalpel as he withdrew to the edge of the bed.

“What…what did you do to me?” Hands shaking with adrenaline, you tried to push yourself up.

His fingers wrapped around your arm in a supportive gesture, his face the picture of serene calm. As if he hadn’t just mutilated the bottom of your foot. “You’re marked as mine now. Like so many others.”

Your eyes widened, horrified. “I don’t…don’t understand.”

“See for yourself.”

You tore your gaze from his, down to your foot bleeding over the bed linens. If he cared about the mess made of his bed, he didn’t show it. Sniffling back more tears, wincing at the tender pain, you bent your leg, angling to see.

The heel of your foot bled freely from neat lines carved into your skin. Lines designed to scar. Lines designed to identify. Your crimson blood stood in stark contrast to the color of your skin, and you could clearly make out the carved symbol. 

**VI**

The roman numeral for 6. You gulped as your head dropped to your chest. 

How many great empires did he say the world had known...?

He hummed with pride, the sound rumbling his lips when they pressed against your bare shoulder. “Do you recognize it?”

A tear rolled down your cheek. “The number six. You…earlier you said the world has only known five truly great empires, so far.”

“Your intelligence never disappoints me.” He dropped another kiss to your shoulder, edging forward to press your back to his firm chest. “The marking of foot soldiers is as old as civilization itself. Why, the commanders of the Roman Legions could always tell when their men betrayed them to the enemy by the casks of severed feet, each one emblazoned with the mark of the foot soldier.”

The thought made you shudder, and he held you tighter, a play at a comforting, lover’s embrace. You shook your head, forcing a swallow. “You don’t need to continue. I understand your point.”

An effective insurance policy. A means to identify you as a player in his quest to create the sixth greatest empire. A means to ensure your silence or identify you as a traitor. 

“I had every expectation.” His lips pressed to the side of your neck. “Now, let’s get you cleaned and bandaged - infection just won’t do. After that, you’re welcome to stay until late morning, or your car’s waiting for you in the parking garage, stall 45B. Your choice.”


	5. 5 Minutes

You only limped for two weeks while the incisions healed. But every time you took a step, you swore you could still feel the VI emblazoned in your skin. His mark. His brand. A constant reminder of what you’d been folded into. And, worse, given your word to support.

It should repulse you more, but strangely…it hadn’t been bad so far. Nothing in the office environment changed. You still reviewed divisional output, provided daily briefings, and assisted with whatever Mr. Conrad needed to keep LOKI as the industry frontrunner. He remained just as cold and detached as he had before he marked you, except for a searing, possessive gleam that darkened his eyes if you held his gaze for too long. As if he dared you to give the situation a voice, dared you to press him for everything that remained unspoken. 

But you bided your time. At first, you had wondered – now that you were a marked foot soldier – if you would be privileged to know more about the mysterious Operation ‘Blue Sea’. But apparently there were still limits to Mr. Conrad’s trust. As infuriating and frustrating as it was. 

It made you wonder if he could actually do it. Would he build the sixth greatest empire that the world had ever known? Was that even possible? And if he failed, what then? How many foot soldiers would go down with him?

Those thoughts shouldn’t concern you right now, though. Mr. Conrad had a meeting in 29 minutes and he needed your notes from this morning’s divisional alignment meeting. Your fingers flew over the keyboard with swift accuracy, recounting the discussion as it happened and nothing more. Mr. Conrad was more than capable of drawing his own conclusions. 

“Hey, you.”

The familiar voice warmed your insides and you couldn’t help but look up with a smile. Sebastian Barnes had always been handsome with his dark hair and stormy eyes, and those lips that always edged a playful smile. You’d been surrounded by so much cold precision as of late and Sebastian was a welcome wave of comforting warmth. 

He chuckled softly, gaze dancing over your face. “It’s good to see you, too. Been a while.”

You hummed in consideration. “Too long, probably.”

“Too long, but hopefully not too late.” He glanced around the office suite. “Swanky new digs. It’s obvious the new gig agrees with you. Certainly suits you, anyway. Mr. Conrad’s never had someone represent him so directly.”

You arched a dubious brow. “He doesn’t trust me _that_ much.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re good at everything you set out to accomplish. I admired that about you from the start.” His smile brightened boyishly as he stole a quick glance to Conrad’s closed doors before turning back. “But hey, I was wondering if we...could do dinner tonight. We’re both guilty of work getting in the way, but…I think I’d like to make that change. At least, for myself - new year, new resolution and all that. So, yeah….dinner tonight?”

Your throat tightened, so desperate to say yes, to enjoy a night of easy conversation and free laughter outside the delicate web of Conrad’s design. But how could you possibly take that risk? You shook your head slowly, regret softening your face. “That sounds wonderful, Sebastian, really - but I’m…I’m not available. Tonight...or any other night.”

His brow pinched in obvious confusion. “No? Oh, no – please don’t tell me I’m too late. What…is there – is it me? Or…someone else?”

You bit your lip, not wanting to lie to him. “I – yeah, I guess you could say there’s someone else.”

“How did I lose out, huh? We had a good thing – good, if infrequent. How did I get bumped out of line?”

It was a fair question. You’d never said you were exclusive with Sebastian, but you weren’t the kind of girl to play a string of lovers. You sighed, glancing quickly to the clock on your computer screen. Time was running out before Conrad’s meeting. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you started softly, “it had nothing to do with you – I really did enjoy our nights together. But this other guy, he just…just swept me up.”

That seemed to take him aback as he pulled a confused face. “What does that even mean?” He glanced up from you, around the suite. All at once, an idea flashed on his face, revulsion and disbelief seeping into his eyes. “Oh, Christ…I didn’t want to believe it. But it’s true, isn’t it?” He stared at you as if he’d never seen you before. “You did fuck him to get the job.”

“No, god no. I didn’t fuck him to get the job.”

“Oh, so you just fucked him _after_ you got the job?”

You glared up at him, feeling your cheeks flush, betraying the truth. “It’s not like that.”

“Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and down his face. His eyes locked to you, passing undeniable judgment. “I defended you, you know. I thought ‘no, she’s above sleeping with a guy for professional gain.’ I mean, you slept with me with nothing to gain.”

“Sebastian, stop talking. Please-.”

“How could there possibly be another explanation?” He studied your face, tilting his head as he seized on another idea. “Wait…please don’t tell me that you actually _like_ that cold bastard?”

“It’s…it’s complicated.”

“It’s really not. Unless he forced you…,” he blinked, eyes probing your face for more, “please don’t tell me he forced you. Or, better yet…please do. It would be gratifying to take down that smug son of a bitch.”

“No, he didn’t force me. And you should really stop talking _now_.” You cast a sideways glance towards the still closed double doors. “You do realize that he can probably hear you.”

“Don’t know that I care much. Whatever he did to you, said to you…he stole you from me. And that…,” he paused for a breath, sadness seeping into his face, “that hurts, you know. I like you – well, I _did_ like you. But I guess you weren’t the girl I thought you were.”

You sighed, welling with heartache and hoping this would be the end. The last thing you wanted was for Conrad to make an unwelcome appearance, so better to just rip the bandage off. “Yeah...I guess not.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it just as quick. He half-nodded, still looking hurt and baffled, but then he turned for the office suite doors. Your heart longed to call out after him – he really was a decent guy who deserved someone better than you. Someone better and stronger who wouldn’t have fallen into Conrad’s calculating clutches.

The hydraulic hinge hissed as the door closed behind him and tears stung your eyes. You bowed your head, fighting them back. You knew that you needed to focus now – this meeting was soon. Your notes were expected. You could cry all night, pound the pillows in frustration, and numb yourself with wine later. Later.

“…Darling?”

Your head shot up on the gentle endearment, startled at the suddenness of the voice.

Conrad stared down at you with an alarmingly compassionate, concerned edge. His expression looked so genuine, but you knew him well enough now to know that it wasn’t genuine. How could it be? He hadn’t been genuine with you since that first meeting.

“Darling,” he repeated, his voice so achingly tender, “you look so terribly upset.”

You forced yourself to summon a smile, hoping your eyes and cheeks weren’t too telltale red. “I’m fine, really. Just...early spring allergies.” You sniffled, mostly for effect, but also to help clear your tears. “But I do appreciate your concern, sir.”

He shook his head, the concerned façade disappearing to reveal pure disgust. “You’re a terrible liar, and you should know better.” He crossed behind your desk in a predatory flash, standing alongside your chair, a firm hand on the back to hold you steady. You breathed deep his subtle cologne as he leaned down, warm breath against your ear. “Tell me the truth. Right now. Otherwise…well, you remember what I said about punishment?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hanging your head. What did you have to lose? Sebastian already thought the worst of you. You already wore Conrad’s brand. You swallowed hard. “A lover’s quarrel, that’s all. A quarrel that ended hurtfully.”

Chilled fingertips crept across the skin of your neck. “Good girl. Though, I confess myself disappointed - you never told me that I was second. That someone else in _this_ building was first to convince you to spread your legs.” 

You froze, suddenly confused. “I...I wasn’t a virg-”. Your words choked off as his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough. Panic rose in your chest as you forced yourself to keep breathing. 

“Don’t be stupid.” His words were little more than a deadly hiss. “It would be embarrassing for a woman of your age to still wear that mantle. Just as I won’t be made a fool of playing second fiddle to a man like Barnes.” His thumb stroked delicately against your skin as he continued to hold you, lips skimming the shell of your ear. “So, you will tell me each detail - how he touched you, how he fucked you. And only when I am satisfied - only when you have earned it, and you’re begging me - will I fuck you until you forget his name and yours.” 

You twitched in your chair, feeling your heart race. Nothing about that should sound appealing, but some dark part of you thrilled at his show of dominance. Even if it was, at base level, nothing better than a threat. 

You swallowed, gaze darting to your computer clock to stall for time. “But, sir -.” You gasped as his hold tightened. 

“You’re not invited to speak unless asked a direct question.” 

“But - your meeting!” You tried again, voice ragged. “The notes you need-.” 

He sneered a discomforting laugh. “Fuck the meeting. Believe me, this time next week - it won’t matter.” 

Fear raced along your spine, both at his words, and the sudden withdrawal of his hand and suffocating presence. You gasped for breath, trying not to jump as strong fingers pressed to the underside of your chin, tilting it sideways and up to look at him. 

His eyes burned with dark, glacial fire, his posture the mark of controlled composure. “My office. Five minutes.” 

He turned for his office, nothing hurried in his stride, and you drew a deep breath. You didn’t realize you’d forgotten to breathe as the words slammed home in your brain. 

His office. Five minutes. Fuck the meeting. Everything he expected you to tell him. 

You rested your head in your hands, fighting to bury every last feeling you had for Barnes. They wouldn’t help you, and you refused to give Conrad the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Perhaps you could - well, not lie exactly - but stretch the truth. What you shared with Barnes was not Conrad’s business, and if he thought he could make you think differently...then, he had another thing coming. If he wanted to control you, flay you open and rebuild you in his image, then...then you damn well wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. 

Two minutes now. You hit the ‘do not disturb’ setting on your phone and computer status before rising, steeling yourself. Your heels sank into the carpet as you approached his open office door. 

He stood at his desk, grey suit jacket slung across the back of his chair as his fingers worked at his tie. Your throat went dry at the sight - he’d never been seen around the office without his tie perfectly placed. 

With a whisper of fabric, he pulled it free from his shirt collar, letting it drop to his desk. His gaze landed on yours as his fingers turned to his cufflinks. “Close the door.” 

Your heart accelerated, feeling the heady pulse of adrenaline as you followed his order.

The cufflink clinked to the glass desktop, nimble fingers now rolling up his sleeves to expose strong forearms. “You understand my expectations?” 

You bit your lip. “Yes, sir.”

He turned his attention to his other sleeve, letting the anticipation, the tension build. 

His office had never felt so suffocating, the air so thick you might choke. You watched as he came around the front of his desk, fingers skimming the discarded tie in an unspoken threat, an unspoken promise. An unbidden current of heat flared to life within you. 

He leveled you with those piercing eyes. “Now, where were we?”


	6. 5 Days

You hadn’t slept well in days now.

Your wrists had ached long after he released the knots of his tie, the discomfort a constant reminder of that afternoon and everything it represented. If your night in his bed had felt like surrender, that afternoon felt like the ultimate submission. He seemed unbearably pleased with himself when you both dropped to his desktop, exhausted, sticky, and heaving for breath. 

But the fallout from that encounter had been equally as disturbing. 

Even through the humiliation of answering his questions and the mind-numbing pulse of pleasure, you didn’t forget that he had sacrificed a meeting to be with you, offering you your first glimpse at a timeline.

_"Believe me, this time next week - it won’t matter._ ”

Of course, you could figure out the implications. It wouldn’t matter because the world as everyone knew it would...would just...cease to exist? Change? Upend? You didn’t have an accurate word for what he would do. 

But that wasn’t the worst part - the worst part was waiting. And continuing to wait. And now…? Now, two weeks had passed since he uttered that statement. Had something happened? Did you miss his great revolution? Had someone betrayed him? You didn’t understand, and you didn’t dare ask.

And, to make things worse - five days had also passed since Sebastian Barnes disappeared.

Honest-to-God _disappeared_. No one had heard from him. His flat was pristine, undisturbed. His car parked in its assigned spot. The office security cameras recorded him leaving and his car pulling away, but after that…well. It was anyone’s guess and the police had no leads. Simmons had been doing a decent job serving as interim Head of IT, but he couldn’t wait for his boss to return.

You didn’t dare ask Conrad about him, either. But of course, you suspected him. Between binding your wrists and his innovative use of cufflinks, he made clear his displeasure over Barnes’ treatment of you. Sure, Conrad was hellbent on world domination, but was he really the type of man to make men disappear? To _murder_?

A chill ran down your spine as you glanced to Conrad’s closed double doors. It made sense that he’d have to get his hands dirty to achieve world domination. But did Sebastian Barnes really pose that much of a threat?

You took a sip of your coffee, trying to push your sleep-deprived thoughts aside and glancing at the clock. 6:46 am. Plenty of time to run through your inbox before starting on the day’s to-do’s. And you needed to be on your game today – you were attending a production strategy meeting in three hours. Sure, it was Barton’s department now, but you still watched it like a hawk, taking extra pride in its continual success.

You recognized the hissing hinge of Conrad’s doors, the click of the handle closing. It was second nature to glance up, offering a polite smile as you waited for his instruction or request.

Even now, it still amazed you how he looked flawless every day without end. Today’s suit was a sleek charcoal that reflected an almost dark navy under the office lighting. A pocket square matched the crisp, pristine white of his shirt. He approached your desk, smoothing the front of his jacket and fastening the front button. His gaze met yours, sharp and bright. “Time to go, darling.”

Time to go? Wasn’t the work day just starting? You shook your head, smile faltering. “I don’t understand, sir. Your first meeting isn’t until 9 am.”

“Time to leave this world behind.” The corner of his mouth curved. “Time to build anew.”

The words stunned you. This was actually it? Today was the day? Your heart leapt and your stomach lurched as you struggled to form a thought. “Today?”

“Right now, in fact. No time to waste.”

You glanced to your desk, numb. Did you grab your laptop or coffee? Perhaps purse and phone? What would be left to come back to after…well, after. You didn’t even have a clue where you were going.

“You needn’t worry about any of your things. You won’t need them.”

The surety of his voice unnerved you. And, yet, moved you to action. You pushed up from your seat, grabbing your coffee tumbler. You couldn’t handle this without more caffeine. He started in a brisk clip for the door, reaching to hold it open for you. You passed through without acknowledging the gesture, feeling his hand quickly fall to the small of your back, steering you through the maze of office corridors.

Eventually, you reached the south end of the main building and he pushed the button for the service elevator. You knew better than to ask, despite the rising tide of anxious nerves that threatened to reject your last drink of coffee. Instead, you took a deep breath and another sip as he led you into the elevator confines.

He extracted a slim key from his pocket, inserting into a keyhole as he pressed the ‘LD’ button three times. A rather puzzling gesture. The loading dock was the lowest level for the service elevator, and only the employee elevators went the next two levels down to the parking garage.

His soft chuckle startled you as the key disappeared back into his suit. “You needn’t look so worried. Or, perhaps, it’s confusion? Either way, you’ll have your answers soon enough.”

You wanted to smart off. To tell him just how unhelpful that was. But you just swallowed another mouthful of coffee instead and told him what he surely wanted to hear. “Yes, sir.”

The elevator doors slid open to reveal…to reveal - 

You nearly tripped over your feet, bowled over at the sight before you. The elevator had opened onto a platform overlooking a covered dock on the water of the city harbor that berthed a sharp, sleek submarine. A small group of people moved about, bustling ropes, hefting boxes, calling out actions. The forward most hatch on the bow was open and a box emblazoned with ‘Dole Bananas’ rested beside it, the yellow fruit bright in the glow of high-pressure sodium lights.

This had to be it. The Operation ‘Blue Sea’ submarine prototype. Sure, Conrad had continued to funnel funds into the project account, but it had never occurred to you that he was _actually_ pursuing the submarine - outfitting it to be his…well, his hideout, his floating command center, his place to stage global change.

Conrad’s amused chuckle sounded low in your ear. “Close your mouth, my dear.” His hand fell again to the small of your back, a guiding gesture. “Can’t have you catching flies before we cast off.”

Your feet moved of their own accord down the metal stairs as he followed swiftly on your heels. “You can’t be serious…that – _that_ is your plan? Surely, we’ll never make it out of the harbor.” You scrambled to recall what you knew of submarine films. “There have to be submarine nets...radar, sonar….”

“And I’m insulted you haven’t given my development team enough credit.” His voice carried just above the din of preparations. “Operation ‘Blue Sea’ was conceived with the sole purpose of developing a stealth, reconnaissance submarine befitting the modern technological age. And we’ve had four years to perfect it ever since the government decided it wasn’t a practical investment.”

You stared at the gleaming black hull, at the sail that rose to an intimidating height. Claustrophobia had never afflicted you before, but you’d never been on a submarine. Your head went light at the prospect of being confined in that tube beneath the crushing ocean depths.

He stopped short, turning towards you with a questioning gaze. “Your watch, please.”

Suddenly the weight of your LOKI smartwatch felt like lead as you held it up yet drew it protectively towards your chest. “What for?”

His nimble fingers reached for your wrist, efficiently undoing the clasp and pulling your watch free. It dropped to the metal with a clink before he brought the heel of a pristine oxford down on the watch face.

You jolted as it cracked under the blow, and again as he brought his heel down a second time. The screen winked to black and he stooped to retrieve it. 

“No unauthorized GPS devices.” He tossed the damaged watch casually into the dark water of the submarine bay. 

You sighed, overwhelmed at the situation. Lamely, you waved your metal, insulated coffee tumbler. “What about this? Maybe there’s a hidden GPS tracking device in here...”

He arched a brow, impossible to tell whether in displeasure or disbelief. Maybe both. “You’re welcome to keep it if you can climb ladders with only one hand.” 

Your gaze stole up to the sail and the access ladder, watching a sailor scale up to the top. You knew what waited on the other side. Another ladder...one that led nowhere but inside.

Coffee wasn’t strong enough right now. You really needed tequila or bourbon. 

Raising the tumbler to your lips, you downed the rest of the dark, bitter liquid. You chucked the empty tumbler aside, hearing the metal exterior connect with the metal decking. You licked the last drop from your lips. “Well, you said no time to waste.” 

His eyes wrinkled with tells of amusement as the corners of his mouth pulled to a faint smirk. The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he lifted a hand gallantly towards the gangway. “Ladies first.” 

You tried not to focus on the murky water as you stepped onto the serrated metal, gripping the handrails as you felt the gangway roll with the bobbing submarine. Conrad followed right behind you, raising one hand in a signaled gesture to the dock workers. 

No turning back now. 

The kitten heel of your pumps plinked off the hull as you navigated the unsteady surface to the sail ladder. With one hand in front of the other, you started to climb. Thank god you wore slacks today. A hand extended at the top of the ladder, and you accepted the sailor’s steadying grip as you stepped off. The gentle swaying motion of the submarine was far more pronounced at this height, and you hoped seasickness wouldn’t set in. 

“After you, miss.” The sailor motioned down at the open hatch, an almost inviting glow emanating from it, offsetting the hull’s dark exterior. 

Your gaze caught Conrad’s as you stepped onto the ladder. He looked so impossibly pleased that you wanted to punch him. Maybe you could try later. 

Taking one step at a time, you descended into the calm buzzing activity below. You weren’t entirely sure what you expected of the interior - all you had to go on were Hollywood movies. But the control room was whitewashed clean, lined with some of the expected pipes and valving, but banks of sleek consoles and display screens dominated the space. A small uniformed crew hunched over stations, giving status reports to a central man who stood, coordinating the controlled chaos. No one paid you any mind as you stepped off the ladder, moving to one side. 

You studied the openings in the bulkheads that extended both fore and aft, but you had no clue what lay in front or behind. Would you even have free reign of the submarine? Would you be treated as a guest? A prisoner? 

Conrad stepped onto the landing beside you, and the groaning squeak of metal sounded above you. With a gasp, you looked up just in time to see the last vestiges of exterior light swallowed up by the black hatch, the watertight lock mechanism sealing into place. 

“Lion and Fox secure.” The man - supposedly the captain - standing front and center called into his radio. “Prepare to set sail.” 

Conrad stepped up to the man, conversing in low tones that you couldn’t quite make out. As best you could tell, the man took his orders from Conrad, of course. 

“Very good, captain,” Conrad said louder, stepping back, “take us down and blackout mode, if you please.” 

The captain opened a shipwide channel, sounding the order for dive preparations. The blaring of a klaxon horn made you jump as you stiffened, squeezing your eyes shut. You really didn’t want to know the minute the ship slipped beneath the waves - the thought of nothing but these walls between you and endless water….

“Darling, breathe,” Conrad’s gentle, soothing voice sounded in your ear, “in and out, slowly. Just breathe. You’re going to be alright.” 

“Am I?” Your words rushed out. “We’re in a fucking _prototype_ submarine. How do you know it’ll even work! How...how can we already be diving...we haven’t even left the dock - are you sure it’s deep enough-” 

“Shh, now,” his arm wrapped around your waist, both in comfort and warning, “it won’t do for you to make a scene.” He tugged you along at his side, turning to the captain. “You know your course.” 

You let yourself be pulled along through the forward bulkhead, leaving the steady buzz of the control room behind. A narrow corridor along the curved hull snaked along a collection of rooms that stretched to the hull’s other side. He opened the first door, guiding you in. 

The room that greeted you looked so unassumingly ordinary. Half office, half living room - crisp furnishings, clean walls, and pleasant decor. If it weren’t for the couple of camouflaged pipes and the rushing sound of ballast tanks emptying - you could almost, _almost_ believe that you were back in your office. 

“I’ll forgive you this once,” Conrad started softly, “but do not publicly cast doubt on my plans again. This prototype, as you called it, has made over thirty dives. I’ve personally overseen the testing of every system on board, and accompanied her through trials in open water. We’ve already proved all of the city’s best anti-submarine defenses inept.” He pulled you tighter against him, his scent wrapping around you. “I have not come so far, so _close_ , to leave anything to chance at this late hour.” 

You looked up at him, still reminding yourself to breathe. “How long?” 

“How long...will we be at sea, or can we stay at sea?” 

You didn’t like the implication of the last option, but you had to know. “Both.” 

“We will be at sea for five days, but we are well provisioned to stay at sea for three months, if needs must.” 

“Three months?” How was that even possible? How could you go for three months without touching solid land? Without escaping him, without….without…. 

Soft lips pressed to your forehead. “There, there…just keep breathing.”

“What…what am I supposed to do? I-I’ll surely go crazy just sitting around here….”

He pulled back with a quizzical look. “Then, why would I continue to pay you?” He motioned towards the desk, and you registered the presence of a laptop. “You’ll find a remote connection to your office laptop. LOKI’s resources are at your disposal just as they ever were.”

You struggled to understand. Did he really just expect you to keep working...like it was any other day? “I don’t get it,” you looked back to him, “won’t LOKI have to take a hit or go down or something…in order for you to rise up?”

His brow furrowed. “Well, that would certainly be a waste. Especially considering that LOKI will need a new CEO in short order. My attention can only be divided so many ways.”

You froze on his words, stunned at the implications. Were you presumptuous enough to actually ask…?

He could probably see the question swirling in your eyes. Especially if the grin that teased his lips was any indication. “A new CEO who understands _all_ the company’s workings and has set upon building a strategy of success that should only continue to flourish.”

“You can’t…fuck, you can’t be serious.”

He winked and turned around just as quick. You almost had to second-guess yourself – he had fucking _winked_.

His voice carried over his shoulder as he reached for the door handle. “Best of luck with today’s production strategy meeting.” 

Silence descended and you wanted to scream. 

What the _fuck_?


	7. 5 Empires

As best you could figure, there were three compartment rooms exclusive for your and Conrad’s use. The first was the combined living room and your office. The second was a smaller room, connected to your office, that served as Conrad’s office – his nerve center, as you came to think of it. The third room was a single bedroom with a bed just big enough for two; built-in wardrobe and drawers lining the walls; and a small, functional bathroom. Or head, as the onboard sailors called it.

Beyond those three compartments, your movements were fairly limited and presided over by the seemingly indifferent crew that moved around you. “Miss Fox”, they all called you, inclining their heads politely when you passed or encountered them in the wardroom. Fortunately, no one waited on you hand and foot. You had free reign in the wardroom for food, coffee, and snacks. Hell, you suspected you might gain weight on this voyage with no chance to run or get any real exercise. At least the clothes that had been provided for you were surprisingly practical – suits with both trousers and skirts, tasteful blouses, silken cami and shorts sleepwear – all perfectly in your size.

Between working and surfing channels on the TV, you kept busy enough. It was still surprising that wireless internet or satellite or whatever it was worked so seamlessly underwater for all digital connections during your voyage.

Now that you were trapped with him underwater, living day-to-day, sharing a bed every night...it was disturbingly domestic and not. He still hadn’t told you much that was practical about anything, other than how to operate the shower controls. 

You’d thought that, surely, now that you were here with him and no means of escape - maybe you would finally be privileged to know the grand plan. But you didn’t even know where the submarine was heading. You didn’t have your passport, but somehow you didn’t think that would be a problem whenever you arrived. But if this was his big move - or if he was making big moves - then would you at least be privileged to know if he won? Or if he lost? 

That thought sat funny with you. If he lost. Of course, it was possible and, in fact, quite probable. Supervillains bent on world domination never won in the movies or comic books. But did you really consider Conrad a supervillain?

Hard to say.

He didn’t act much differently. He’d always walked and stood with the authority that he owned the world. With LOKI, he certainly had, and nothing about that had changed now. His cool, controlled demeanor had yet to slip, even though you spent a lot more concentrated time around him. At first, you feared what the single bed in the one bedroom would herald, but until last night, he’d been an unexpectedly, perfect gentleman. And even then, he’d only given you what you all but took from him. 

You hadn’t meant to wake up. But the motion of the bed as he slid beneath the sheets stirred you. His scent enveloped you, always so enticing. Your hand reached out in a sleepy haze, settling to the hard plane of his chest, fingers tangling in the light scatter of hair. The heat of his body permeated the air, a welcome contrast to the chill of the submarine’s filtered air. Your head drifted on the pillow, only wanting to curl closer. 

His minty breath fanned your face as a warm, solid hand covered yours, pressing it flat against his skin. Arousal suffused you, warm and rolling. Your legs twitched against the sheets, brushing his coarse leg hair. His nose skimmed yours as you breathed him in. 

When your lips met his, there was no resistance. No illusion. Half-lucid drowsiness had given way to aching want, and he groaned softly as you rolled atop him. His hand rose to frame your face, angling you deeper into the kiss as his other hand drifted down your spine. You moaned, low and breathy, as tongues tangled and you felt his arousal grow against you. Without realizing it, your hips started to roll in slow, teasing waves. 

In a fluid, tender motion you were on your back with the heat of his body everywhere above you. Those nimble fingers caressed your breast through the silk of your cami as he angled his hips to let you slide down his sleep shorts. Yours went next and you whimpered at the feel of him, hard and heavy, against your core. With no words, no questions, he pushed inside, burying to the hilt before setting a slow, steady pace. 

He brushed that secretive, intense place within you on each stroke, tearing raw moans from your throat. Tears stung your eyes, overwhelmed and overcome, as he continued to move, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back. His forehead rested against yours, noses nuzzling as you each gasped and moaned your shared pleasure. With the deep slide of him inside and the press of him outside, it didn’t take long until your release burst in blinding euphoria. 

And you did the unthinkable. Words slipped from your lips before you could even think. 

“ _Oh, Tom…._ ” 

You didn’t realize what you’d said until later. Much later. After he’d told you not to wash away the evidence of your shared passion. After you’d fallen asleep, curled into him, despite the tacky moisture pooling between your thighs. After you’d woken to see the sheets stained beyond reuse. After he’d brought enough breakfast and coffee for two as you each dressed for the day. 

And now...now, you braced for his response. For his inevitable retaliation for the liberties you took, either with his given name or his person. He’d never given you permission to call him ‘Tom’. 

You blew another sigh, distracted from your work yet again. And all of that was to say nothing of even beginning to analyze what drove you into his arms at the late night hour in the first place. Was this the beginning of some twisted captivity dependency? Where you were just that desperate for human contact that you turned to your captor? 

Not quite. He hadn’t abducted you. You could have pitched a fit, refused to go, and likely wound up in the bottom of the harbor along with your watch. But you didn’t. You were here.

The VI on the bottom of your foot throbbed. 

But the hours continued to progress, and it proved just another day under the water.

Until it wasn’t. Until he lounged on the couch, oddly close to you, oddly relaxed. His tie had disappeared, along with his suit jacket. The top buttons of his dark shirt revealed a tease of skin, and his sleeves were cuffed just above his elbows. He sipped from a highball of scotch as you nursed your wine. The TV droned mindlessly on global news, current events.

“It’s been four days,” you started softly, “are we still planning to arrive tomorrow?”

He took a slow sip of scotch. “Yes.”

“Is that when I’ll learn more?”

He cut you with a wry, sideways look. “Don’t you want to maintain some plausible deniability?”

You bristled. Sure, you’d thought of that, but you didn’t like the insulation on his voice. You weren’t ready for him to make a rash decision on your behalf and cut off your left foot. “At this point…after last night – difficult to deny I’m not a willing participant in your coup or revolution or whatever you’re terming it.”

“It’s neither of those things.” He paused for another mouthful of scotch. “Certainly nothing so dramatic. Dramatic change invites a dramatic response, which does no one any good. Subtlety is key until the moment of revel.”

You couldn’t hold back a soft snort. “Until you…what? Rise out of the water on a fountain of righteousness?”

“Nothing so fantastical. The dominoes will start to fall tomorrow. You’ll see.” 

You took another drink of wine, debating pushing your luck. Why not? “I thought you might be angry, or...displeased after last night.” 

He hummed softly, his eyes darting up and down your torso as he raised a hand to his mouth, teasing his thumb with his front teeth. “Now, why would you think that?” 

“No one calls you ‘Thomas’, let alone ‘Tom’.” You weren’t going to mention that conversation with Amelia. “I just want to know if I should be on my guard for you to corner me against the bulkhead for another of your so-called ‘lessons’.” 

“In the dark of night with you warming my bed so freely, you’ll find little behind closed doors that displeases me. However, should such an incident bleed over into the daylight, that will be a different discussion.” 

You blinked, doubting you heard him right. “That...that’s it?” 

He turned to you with a distantly annoyed expression. “I’ve told you before - you’re not one for trite questions. You have what you have. And soon…,” his lips curled in a wolfish smile, “we’ll have the world.” 

You’re not sure how you slept that night, but you did. You did, and you worked until he interrupted you, switching on the news. 

_“Alright, thank you, Adam.” The anchor turned back to face the main camera. “Again, to recap - if you’re just joining us - we’re 14 hours into what’s already being called the most massive market shakeup in history. The trend started in the Japan Exchange Group - the world’s 3rd largest financial market. A trickle of sales and acquisitions that grew to cascading proportions, with far-reaching impacts into the Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Shenzhen Stock Exchanges. Financial analysts are now reporting the moves permeated across these markets now have spread through the Bombay Stock Exchange, and are starting to manifest in Euronext. We have our own analyst, Ted Marshall, joining us now. Hello, Ted.”_

_The newscast split screens, and a spectacled man in a frumpy suit joined the anchor. “Hello, yes - as you said - the financial world has never seen movement of this magnitude. And, to be clear, we’re talking about movements of tectonic proportions that have left investors around the globe scratching their heads and frantically trying to keep up.”_

_“As we’ve already seen, six of the ten largest markets in the world have already been impacted. What risk do you see for the remaining four markets?”_

_“I don’t think it’s a risk at all - I think it’s a predictable reality. Pinhole leaks precede a tsunami wave breaching a seawall. We’ve already seen those pinhole streams flow from one market to the next as trading floors open and then the big wave hits. It’s as if someone has found the thread that unites all of the world’s major markets, and is following that thread across the time zones, pulling to unravel and create something new.” Ted shook his head, as if in disbelief. “The world’s top ten stock markets control almost 80% of the global wealth. If what we’re seeing continues on through the UK and US based markets, then we could be looking at the largest redistribution and consolidation of wealth in history.”_

You stared at the TV, nearly agape. This was unreal...it had to be. It didn’t make sense - how could....? 

A cold chill ran down your spine as you glared over at Conrad. Sure, he was normally a man of confident bearing, but the intense pride that suffused his handsome face was unsettling. Slowly, he turned towards you, the corner of his mouth lifting as he spoke. “Admittedly, it was a hard thread to identify.” He muted the TV volume. “It took me years to execute the right contracts, plan the right mergers. And then more time, still, to recruit foot soldiers. But the sales and acquisitions will continue to waterfall through the western markets - until they seize upon the floors of the Nasdaq and New York Stock Exchange, with LOKI emerging a triumphant victor.” He glanced back at the TV with an almost secretive air. “The reporters have it right - the world’s top ten markets do control nearly 80% of the global wealth, and by the time of the closing bell on Wall Street - 75% of that wealth will be directly under my control.” 

Your eyes widened. “You’re just...you’re _stealing_ the global wealth to fund your takeover?” 

“Did you hear any mention of illegal activity?” He cut back to you with a sharp look. “That’s the beauty of it - all the sales, all of this tectonic movement and consolidation - has been out in the open for everyone and anyone to exploit, given the right resources and strength of will. Surely, I don’t need to remind you that I have both of those fully at my disposal.” 

“But that’s...that’s….” Words escaped you as you turned back to the TV, seeing the headlines and stock market numbers on the screen. It was...dammit, it was smart, it was genius...it was terrifying. You forced a swallow. “So, what then? Once you control 75% of the global wealth, what happens then?” 

“With 75% of the global economy facing bankruptcy, world leaders will have very little choice. But as I’ve said before, it’s a balance act to prove one has enough bases covered. Economic prowess is not enough to bring the nations into alignment, so it must be supplemented.” He glanced down at his watch, swiping through the touchscreen and pushing a side button. 

The TV channel changed to a tactical display - a visual of the world’s continents with major cities marked and identified. Each city had a stock market indicator, tracking the progression of wealth accumulation, and symbols that looked like traffic signals. Most of the cities just had one traffic signal indicator, but some cities like Tokyo and London had two indicators. Washington, D.C. had three indicators. In fact, now that you looked again - all cities had red lights at the top of the indicators, but Tokyo and Beijing’s indicators were yellow. 

You gulped, trying to understand. Both Tokyo and Beijing had a full wealth accumulation tracker, so what did the yellow lights represent? You turned to Conrad, his gaze fixed on you, observing your study of the map. “The yellow lights...does that represent your supplement?” 

The dark grin that curled his lips didn’t reach his eyes. “It represents an inbound warhead. Two targets in Tokyo and one in Beijing - undetectable by radar, too small for anti-missile defense, and enough firepower to reduce the seats of those governments to smoldering ruins.” He waved at the TV. “With a few strategic hits, the old guard will visibly crumble, paving the way for a new world.” 

“That’s monstrous!” You stared at him wide-eyed in disbelief. “Killing all those innocent people!” 

“Innocent is a kind word for those who have brought the world to such a state. A few will perish, yes. Such important buildings are never truly empty, even after hours when the majority of its occupants are off basking in the wealth of their reaping.”

“But you can’t…that - that makes you no better than they are.” 

“There are only so many ways to get their attention, and in this case - it’s best to speak languages they understand.” 

You shook your head, still horrified. “Money and violence.” 

“Precisely.” 

You wanted to keep admonishing him, yelling at him, and even beg him to stop. Each scenario played out with ultimate futility in your mind. This was his submarine, this was his show, and this was his moment. Nothing in his overbearing arrogance would bend to your wishes that he cease and desist. 

So, you watched. You watched the stock market wealth accumulators fill. You watched the traffic signals drop from red to yellow, and ultimately to green. You tried not to think about how many lives each light represented. Occasionally, the TV would revert back to the news - each station overwhelmed with the amount of incoming information, updates on world leaders rushed to safety, financial markets upheaved, buildings exploding into flame in yet another new city. 

It was terrible to watch. Terrible, and yet - like a train crash - impossible to look away. 

After time, after hours - eventually, the last wealth accumulator peaked. The last signal turned green. 

And nothing. Nothing happened. The submarine continued along, just as it always had. Just another day under the water, blissfully oblivious to the destruction raging across the continents above. You’d completely lost track of the hour, feeling a deep bone-weary exhaustion gnaw at you. You couldn’t even recall the last time you’d eaten, your stomach a giant knot from all the anxious news activity. 

Still, you watched coverage of the fallout. Unknown numbers of injured, but significantly less than if the buildings had been occupied. And the list of damage was extensive. Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. The Great Hall of the People. The Kremlin. The Grand National Assembly of Turkey. The Government of India Building. The Palace of Westminster. Buckingham Palace. The White House. The United States Capitol. But you already knew - you’d seen the map. 

But then came a breaking announcement. After the twenty-four hours of chaos, everything had fallen still and quiet. No more inbound missiles. No more stock market movement. In fact, the governments of the world were beginning to read the outcome in the settling dust, starting to grasp that the vast wealth of the global economy was no longer theirs to control. 

There were too many questions and not enough answers in the chaos - but there was a note. A single message with a concise purpose that arrived at the United Nations conspicuously after the last missile fell. 

It brought a request. A request for a meeting. A request to talk through the global situation. And the meeting was due to start within minutes. World leaders from all over the globe planned to call in and listen firsthand to the discussion. And, of course, the origin of the note was untraceable and anonymous. 

But you knew who had sent it. 

He stood next to you now, dressed in the finest suit of his collection. The crispest cut, the sharpest fit, and the dark navy color did wonders for the crystal blue of his eyes. He looked like a man of power. Like...like the ruler of the world. 

He caught your gaze with a sideways smirk before he turned for the door to his office. “Mustn’t be late, you know.” 

You exhaled shakily. “So...so, that’s it? It’s over? You...won?” 

He paused at the door, turning back for one last glance, steely determination glinting in his eyes. “What other choice do they have?” 

The door closed behind him, and you held your breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos & comments are always so greatly appreciated. Until next time, here's hoping the 'Loki' show lives up to expectations! Cheers!


End file.
